


on the road to ruin

by theundiagnosable



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Bedsharing, M/M, Road Trips, and canada as a plot device, ft. sex bets, it's summer road trip pwp with commitment issues no one call me out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable
Summary: Will’s got a stupid, contrived bet to see if they can have sex in every province, and a liney-slash-fuckbuddy who’s competitive enough to actually follow through, and if being cooped up together in a car isn’t enough to make him come back to earth vis-a-vis Auston Matthews, then he’s screwed anyways.





	on the road to ruin

**Author's Note:**

> set in a sunny future where willy has signed his contract.

Fucking in a car is really hard. Not even hard in an erection joke way, in a ‘we’re both well over six feet tall and two hundred pounds, why did we think we could fit into the backseat of this sports car’ way.

Willy says as much, and Matts looks disgruntled.

“ _You_ started kissing _me_ ,” he says, propping himself up on his elbows so Willy has to sit back or fall off the seat. “Not my fault you rented the tiniest fucking car.”

“It’s _luxury,_ ” Will argues, but he’s already distracted thinking of the word ‘disgruntled’ – What’s a gruntle? Why doesn’t Auston have one? – and then he gets re-distracted by Matts’ dick against his thigh. It kind of brings him back to earth. “Are we having sex or what?”

“I wasn’t sure if we were stopping,” Auston says, defensive, and Willy rolls his eyes, leans down to kiss him again.

It takes some shifting around to get in a reasonably comfortable position. One of the seat belt buckles is still digging into Willy’s knee where he’s bracing himself above Auston, but he can tolerate it – he tugs his shirt off and gets back to making out, humming contentedly against Matts’ mouth when he drags a hand up and down Willy’s back, making him shiver.

It builds up, slow and good, the heat pooling low in Will’s belly. It’s really humid, and Willy’s not quite sure if that’s a B.C. thing or a them being pressed together in the backseat of a car thing, but he likes it, loses himself in Matts’ hands on him, in palming at Auston’s dick through his shorts, feeling him get all stiff.

Except-

“What does disgruntled even mean?” Will asks, and Auston blinks up at him, pupils blown big.

“What?”

“Like what’s gruntled?” Willy asks, because it’s really bugging him. “You know?”

“No,” Auston says. “Why would I know that?”

Willy shrugs. “You speak English.”

“So do you,” Auston points out, which is fair, and then he does this long-suffering sigh and lies back on the seat. “We’re going to get arrested for public indecency and end up in like, west coast hick jail.”

“Better be quick then,” Willy says, light, and now it’s Matty’s turn to roll his eyes, but he kisses back when Willy kisses him again, and then they’re both too distracted for talking, after that.

\---

William hates road trips, actually, on principle.

He likes being comfortable, and he likes having easy access to what he needs, and the concept of fitting weeks’ worth of clothing and contact lenses and personal hygiene products into minimal luggage is a nightmare.

But here he is. Here they are.

The whole thing’s Auston’s fault, really, because this was the best way Will could think to try and start hating him.

It’s not like he _wants_ to. It’s kind of just. Necessary, so Will won’t get stupid about stuff. Which he sort of already is, which is kind of the point, but- he doesn’t get stupid about feelings. He doesn’t _get_ feelings, especially not this kind, especially not after they just inked contracts tying them together for most of the rest of their twenties, which makes Willy dizzy even to think about, which is just wildly inconvenient, what with, well-

He doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t let himself go there.

It’s fine. He’s got a stupid, contrived bet to see if they can have sex in every province, and a liney-slash-fuckbuddy who’s competitive enough to actually follow through, and if being cooped up together in a car isn’t enough to make Willy come back to earth vis-a-vis Auston Matthews, then he’s screwed anyways.

So:

Road trip.

\---

Willy liked Vancouver and the coast, but the rest of British Columbia’s pretty as well. It’s miles and miles of open road, once they’re away from the city, so he can step on the gas and really just enjoy driving the way he doesn’t get to do in downtown Toronto traffic.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey, Fast and Furious.”

Matts does, like, the most half-hearted little ‘woohoo’ ever, but he’s leaning back in his seat, window down so the wind’s whipping his hair around, and he’s smiling real enough that Willy knows he’s having fun too.

It’s early enough in the offseason that they can basically eat what they want, so they both get double scoops of ice cream and eat while they wander through this cute little market. It’s a lot of seniors, lots of booths of artisanal foods and homemade candles and stuff. Auston looks good, all tanned, towering over the crowd in his stupid pseudo-grunge t-shirt and ripped shorts, chirping Willy about his choice of ice cream flavour.

“Mango sherbet is clearly better,” Auston’s saying, all cocky. Really chill, like he never is during the season. “No contest.”

“Sure, if I’m on a beach,” Willy counters. “In this, like, quaint little market, though-”

“Pistachio?” Auston finishes, skeptical.

“Pistachio,” Willy confirms. It’s good pistachio ice cream, at that, this pretty shade of green. Very venue-appropriate.

“That’s old people ice cream,” Auston says, obnoxious. Like he’s not a grown adult. “Middle-aged dad style.”

“Daddy style,” Willy says, because if there’s a sex joke on the table he’s obviously going to make it, with Matts, and he puts the cherry on top by licking his ice cream as suggestively as he can, for public.

Auston goes bright red, because he’s easy to rile up, if you know how. “God,” he chokes, but he’s laughing. “I’m getting an uber to the fucking airport.”

“Buy me something nice at duty free,” Willy says, really light. “I like cologne.”

“I’m not buying you cologne,” Matts shakes his head, and bumps his shoulder against Willy’s, gentle. Willy bumps him back. “You’d wear it all the time, though, I bet. With your massive crush on me.”

“Your ego is gross,” Will says, light. He doesn’t dwell on the crush thing. He’s good at not letting stuff affect him, visibly. “Also your taste in ice cream. For your information.”

Auston just grins, at Will then out ahead of them. It’s an easy, open smile, the kind he reserves for his friends. Willy can get it out of him pretty easily, these days.

They’re good friends, so.

Auston bumps his shoulder up against Will’s one more time, stays next to him as they go meandering through the stalls, looking at the weird organic vegetables. It’s light, nothing deep.

He made that joke so easy _, your massive crush on me._ If they weren’t friends, Willy might kind of hate him. As is, well-

He’s working on it.

\---

Neither of them is really a nature person, but the national park is like something off a postcard, mountains and trees and the sky looking bigger than Willy’s ever seen it. It’s Auston’s turn to drive, so Willy really gets to enjoy the view, staring out the window and pointing out anything especially interesting.

Canada’s a really bigass country.

They do one of the shorter hikes, which still ends up being a pretty good workout, all rocky terrain and barely-there paths. Willy’s sweating through the back of his t-shirt by the time they get to a lookout spot for a break, and he collapses into one of the little wooden benches, retying his shoes while Matts takes pictures for instagram.

“Take a good one of me,” Willy orders, in a nice way, and Auston makes a face.

“That’ll be tough,” he snarks, also in a nice way, probably. They both know how Willy looks.

He does get a pretty nice picture of Willy, in the end, and then ducks in close for a selfie that he adds to his story.

“For my public,” Auston quips, all diva so he’s basically begging Will to chirp him, so he does, and it’s goofy and dumb but they’re laughing most of the rest of the trail, interrupting the quiet of the forest. He’s so, so easy to be around.

Lunch is sandwiches on picnic benches outside of this little snack shop. It’s really woodsy, summer camp aesthetic like in the movies, all these legit looking hikers and mountain bikers milling around.

Willy flips through a stack of brochures to figure out where they’re going to stay tonight. “We should do a hotel with a spa,” he decides. “There are so many spas around here.”

Auston snorts. “Yeah, right,” he says, taking a bite of his BLT.

“This one has full body maple scrubs,” Will pushes. He slides the brochure across the table so Auston can see the pictures of people getting pampered. “I _deserve_ this.”

“I’m not doing a maple scrub,” Auston says, flat. “That’s so weird, who even...” He trails off, looking down at the brochure, and Will’s not entirely sure why until Auston turns the page toward him. “They have hot stone massages,” he says, hushed.

Will raises an eyebrow.

\---

They end up sitting next to each other after their massages, which is nice. Willy’s floating, it feels like, his robe plush on his skin, cucumber slices on his eyes as he reclines next to Matts and dozes while they get foot rubs.

“This is the gayest fucking roadtrip,” Auston says, over on Will’s left. He sounds like it’s taking some real effort to work up a protest, which Willy can respect. “I think we’re supposed to be roughing it more.”

“You’re right, let’s go do something manly like fishing or rolling in mud,” Willy says, without moving, because he’s zen as fuck right now and doesn’t want to dislodge his cucumber slices.

Matts scoffs, and he doesn’t concede defeat, but after a second he adds, light, “Mud facials.”

Willy grins, glad Auston can’t see him. He could think something cheesy about how he’s glad he has someone he can do this stuff with, because a lot of the boys get weird about anything that’s not, like, actively trying to be a fucking lumberjack, and it’s nice that him and Matts can be on the same page about treating themselves and enjoying stuff that’s actually fun. Like a cool thing they share, just them.

It’s not that kind of road trip, though, so William doesn’t think that stuff, just enjoys the rest of his foot rub, trails up to their suite, and hops up onto the giant bed, still in his spa robe. He has the foresight to get the lube from his bag and leaves it by the bedside table, holds the glasses while Matts pours them overpriced rosé from the mini fridge.

“Cheers,” Will says, all formal on purpose and barely managing to hold back a smile, “to the best lineys sex bet roadtrip ever, and to how soft our skin is right now.”

“Amen.” Auston grins, and downs his glass while Willy stretches out his legs and wiggles his toes on the soft sheets.

This kind of evening is a luxury they never get during the season, lying around and killing time doing absolutely nothing important. They make out on and off, just lazy, listening to music tinny from the speakers on Matts’ phone, the dumb hipster shit he likes. They manage to kill a good portion of the bottle between them by the time the playlist loops, and then familiar lyrics are playing and Willy’s mouth is tingling from being kissed and he’s tipsy and he wants to get fucked and that’s just kind of where he’s at, tonight.

Will tugs at the belt of Auston’s robe, and it comes loose easy in his hand so he can push the rest of the robe off of Auston and run his hands across his chest. And his skin _is_ soft.

“Alright,” Willy says, enthusiastic and stupid with the wine and the massage and everything, and Matts leans in and kisses him, just barely. It’s teasing, kind of cocky for how nothing it is, how Auston waits for Willy to chase his mouth before kissing him properly.

“Alright alright alright,” Auston says, sing-song against Will’s mouth, because he’s always been kind of an idiot drunk; and it’s not even like Willy can make fun of him, because he tugs off Willy’s robe and leans down to kiss his neck, then the dip of his collarbone, and lingers there.

Will hums, pleased, and goes easily when Matts pushes him down, crawls over him and goes back to kissing a trail down his chest. Willy shuts his eyes and just feels it.

He’s too relaxed to feel any real sense of urgency, but it’s a relief all the same when Auston finally gets his mouth on Willy’s dick. Willy doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing Matts like that, mouth open wide and vulnerable, going pink from the stretch, from being used.

Auston goes really slow, so slow it’s almost mean, taking Willy in deep, working him ‘til he’s fully hard. He’s got one hand on Willy’s stomach to keep him from bucking upwards, the other drifting down to linger at his balls, then further back so Willy knows what he’s getting at.

Willy reaches out blindly for the lube from the bedside table, mentally congratulates his past self for being sober enough to leave it ready. He kind of throws it at Auston’s head – sorry, bro – and lifts his ass, impatient.

“Get me ready,” he says, bossy. “Wanna come.”

“You’re such a fucking princess,” Auston chirps, but there’s a laugh somewhere in his voice that Willy knew would be there, because they’ve had sex enough times for Willy to know that Matts’ll mouth off but he likes having something to do.

It’s not especially elegant, Auston fingering Willy open, because they’re both real loose and clumsy after today, but it’s familiar and good and exactly what Willy wants, Auston’s fingers and then his dick inside him because that’s how they do things.

Willy doesn’t bother holding back any of his noises, just arches on the bed as Auston fucks him. It’s putting on a show, a little bit, but not in a bad way – he likes the way Auston reacts to his reactions, the way he can nudge him towards doing one thing or another, like talking without really talking.

Auston finally gets the angle that sends sparks down Willy’s spine, and Willy clings to him instinctively, pushing up and grabbing at his arm; Auston gets the message, reaches down and barely has to touch Willy’s dick before he’s coming and he’s so fucking full, throwing his head back and just leaning into the feeling of Matts inside him.

He probably deserves the princess chirps – he’s out of it, floating once he comes, hardly even pays attention to Auston getting there himself a couple minutes later. Auston doesn’t complain, just stays close, keeps up this slow, barely-anything grind until it’s too much, and then he pulls out and they’re sprawled out, coming back to earth.

“Alberta,” Willy says, still a little winded, and holds up his hand for a high five.

“Alberta,” Matts echoes, and high fives him, and then he laughs. Mostly a scoff.

Willy nudges his arm. “What?”

Auston’s eyes are bright, like he knows he’s about to say something dumb. “You smell like maple,” he says, and does his stupid too-cool-to-laugh laugh again, and Will’s stomach does a flip, this fond little thing.

He ignores it. He ignores the _hell_ out of it.

\---

They leave after brunch, with flawless skin and really nice nail beds and no pain at all in Willy’s shoulders for the first time since maybe juniors. It’s a long drive, and he naps in the car instead of enjoying the scenery, but Auston naps too, when it’s his turn, and even when they’re both awake, it’s still peaceful, lazy.

They’re surrounded by, like, a million Flames bumper stickers when they drive through Calgary.

“You’re from here, right?” Auston asks, conversational.

“Born here,” Willy nods. He’s leaning on the door, staring out the window. It just looks like any other city. Not really anything, to him.

He can feel Auston staring at him. “Do you remember it?”

“How would I remember being born?” Will says, as bitchy as he can make it, so Matts won’t go thinking this is an emotional heart to heart thing, because it’s not.

“Bet you were a fucked-up looking baby,” Matts says, easy, because he’s not the emotional heart to heart kind of guy either. That’s why this thing works, with them.

That’s why they’re going to keep it this way.

\---

Willy’s been around a lot of Canada, but mostly via planes, and mostly in cities, which means that he’s never quite appreciated until now just how many fields there are.

Maybe appreciated is the wrong word.

They’re taking a meandering route, driving all over the place ‘til the days and nights blur together into fields and hotels and motels and more fields. An infinite fucking supply of fields.

“So much of Canada is so boring,” Auston says, because they’re usually on the same wavelength about this stuff. It’s his turn to drive and he’s slouched back in his seat, only one hand on the wheel like it makes him look cooler, which it kind of does, not that Willy would ever admit that to him. Willy’s been staring at him, really lowkey, for a while now. Auston’s generally more interesting to look at than fields. Than a lot of things.

“You’re from the desert,” Will points out, devil’s advocate. “Just sand.”

“Scottsdale’s a city, genius,” Auston says, and shoots him an unimpressed look, but not for long enough that Willy can tell him to keep his eyes on the road. “This is _farms_.” Then, like it’s just occurring to him, “You think Patty lived near here?”

“Nothing lives near here,” Willy says, and he knows that it’s like, objectively not true, and that he can even see the occasional house on the horizon, that the existence of paved roads pretty much guarantees that humans are at least somewhere close by; but he feels it, anyways, like they’re in some kind of a bubble.

They don’t pass the ‘Home of Patrick Marleau’ sign, which is kind of a bummer, but they do pull in at a roadside restaurant for objectively shitty but situationally awesome burgers. Some kid in a Leafs t-shirt asks them for autographs. Willy uses the free wifi to message his sisters. Auston shoots a flirty grin at the waitress, even though he’s wearing his dumb bandana tied around his head like that makes his forehead any smaller. The waitress smiles back, so Willy’s not the only sucker here, apparently.

He wads up his straw wrapper and throws it at Auston so he’ll stop staring at the waitress’ ass. Willy’s ass is way better. “Can I have your fries?”

“You have your own fries,” Auston says, and hunches over his plate, all defensive. They end up kicking at each other’s heels, and they probably look like idiots bickering over fries, but Auston’s eyes are back on Willy and they stay there the rest of the meal, so that’s something, at least.

It’s probably a cliché, that they end up stargazing. The word itself is kind of- it’s too romantic for what it is, the two of them sitting on the hood of their rental car and staring upwards. The sky’s utterly clear, out here away from the city, enough that the stars actually make things bright. Willy could swear on anything that they’re the only two people in the world, no cars or houses or anything but stars for ages.

“You can see them like this at home,” Auston says. He’s leaning back on his hands, neck craned so he can look up at the sky. His nose looks cute, silhouetted like this. “In Arizona, I mean.”

“Where else would you mean?” Will asks, mostly rhetorical. Mostly so he won’t say shit about Auston’s cute nose, because gross.

Matts shrugs. “Dunno.”

The tips of his fingers brush against Willy’s. Willy should move his hand. He doesn’t.

“I didn’t realize I needed glasses ‘til I was like, seven,” Will says, on a whim. “I still remember the first time I got to see stars properly. It was sick.”

It’s the truth. He got contacts pretty quick, because the glasses and a bowl cut look was highly unfortunate even then, but he remembers every single second of sitting there in his new glasses, realizing what all the fuss about the stars was for. It’s one of those things he doesn’t think he’ll ever really forget.

Auston’s smiling, Willy realizes. His first instinct is to be embarrassed – oversharing much, jesus, that’s not them – but then Auston elbows him, gentle.

“That’s fuckin’ cute,” he says, and it’s chirping, but his eyes look bright, really happy.

“I am, yeah,” Willy agrees, and this time he lets his fingertips touch Auston’s, and this time he doesn’t move, just watches the stars.

It’s a good night, the kind of night Willy could trick himself into thinking counts as romantic; this warm, cozy feeling that sticks with him, when he dozes in the car, when they pull up at the first motel they find with a vacancy sign lighting up the night.

They both need to shower and then they need to have sex for their bet, so it’s really only logical that they end up crammed into the shower together, Auston’s back against the tiles as Willy pins him and kisses him, hungry.

“Been waiting for this,” Auston gets out, and he’s at least self-aware enough to punctuate it with a grin that gets cut off when Willy kisses him again, because Willy’s been waiting too, can’t think of a better way to end off a night like tonight. It’s addictive, being close like this, in every sense of the word.

“Fuck my mouth, okay?” he says, a hand on Auston’s waist.

Auston nods, eyes dark. He’s already hard, his dick curving up towards his stomach when Willy gets on his knees – it makes a little splash in the water collecting at the bottom of the shower – and presses a kiss to Matty’s hipbone, to the base of his cock.

Willy gets his mouth around Auston’s dick, gets used to the weight of him, then taps at Auston’s leg so he’ll move, and Auston pushes further into Willy’s mouth. He’s being gentle about it, Willy can tell, but he’s also big enough that gentleness doesn’t make much of a difference, and Willy’s breath catches when he tries to breathe around him.

It feels dirty in the best kind of way. Willy’s mouth is sore at the edges, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and it’s sort of just- it’s a lot of sensations, and Willy lets himself get lost in them, the water hitting his face, Auston’s hand in his hair, Auston picking up the pace, pushing his hips forward into Willy’s face.

Will’s brain isn’t really thinking thoughts except for _touch_ , so he does; drags his hands along Matts’ thighs and squeezes his ass, and it’s not really an intentional thing when Willy’s finger goes to between Matts’ ass cheeks, except for how it is, kind of, but it’s definitely intentional when Auston reaches back and moves his hand away. It’s like- it’s noticeable, and Willy would maybe comment, except then Auston’s other hand is tightening in his hair and he’s coming, right in Willy’s mouth, and that’s a bit of a distraction.

Will’s not complaining. It’s a good distraction. He likes seeing the expression on Matts’ face when he looks down, because Willy knows what he looks like, on his knees with his mouth pink and droplets of water quivering on his nose, and he likes the reaction that it always gets.

“Fuck, look at you,” Auston breathes, and then he’s dropping to his knees right in front of Will, so they’re level again and Willy can lean his head against Auston’s shoulder and just be lazy like that as Matts jerks him off with the water pooling around them. “You like that?”

“Faster,” Willy says, squeezing his eyes closed, and he maybe digs his nails into Auston’s arm, a little, when he picks up the pace, but Auston doesn’t complain, just works Willy’s dick like a pro, tight and fast and warm, neither one of them speaking ‘til Willy’s coming into his fist. It’s an intense one; would probably make him fall over if he wasn’t already on his knees.

“God,” he breathes. “Shit.”

Auston breathes a laugh, quiet and a little bit proud of himself. Willy can feel him about to pull back, and he can blame it on the orgasm or the tiny room or, he doesn’t know, the fucking stars, but he holds onto Auston, stops him.

“Wait,” he requests, and Auston does this weird sound, somewhere between surprised and indulgent, but he stays on his knees in front of Willy and they just sit there for a while, quiet on their knees with the water coming down around them. It’s not even the nicest shower, not even close. There’s something good about it all the same.

Auston touches his temple to Willy’s, rubbing Willy’s shoulder with his thumb. It’s not possessive, really, but it’s comfortable, like his hand belongs there. Willy could believe it, that his hand belongs there. Willy-

Willy keeps fucking doing this.

He makes himself get to his feet, abrupt, and climbs out of the shower. He grabs a towel, tosses one at Matts as well.

“Got Saskatchewan,” he says, because they’re ostensibly keeping track of this.

“Um,” Auston says, clearly thrown off, and he’s reaching up to shut off the water, but Willy doesn’t stay to hear it, or to see the look Auston gives him. He can fill in the blanks.

The problem, here, is it’s so easy to get caught up. Maybe easier than it should be. Stars and shower sex and that’s all it takes to get Willy thinking stupid thoughts, the kind of thoughts that this whole trip is supposed to be getting rid of. That’s the whole _point_ , is making himself realize why he doesn’t want this.

He feels like he wants this.

He pulls on a t-shirt to sleep in, crawls into the bed and stays lying there, deliberately still as Matts comes out from the bathroom and goes through his own suitcase for a pair of boxers. He doesn’t talk either, even though Willy can practically hear him thinking.

The bed dips when Auston sits down next to him. Left side, where he always goes.

“TV?”

Willy shrugs. “If you want.”

The lack of conversation sticks out, too noticeable as Auston puts on some baseball game. Willy tugs the covers up, stares at the TV then at the wall then at Auston, just in time to see Auston turn to look at him. Someone strikes out in the baseball game.

“You gonna ever tell me why we’re actually doing this?” Auston asks, and he sounds casual but there’s something in his eyes, something wary. “Not the made-up bet reason?”

“It’s not made-up,” Willy says, too fast, just on reflex. He feels caught off guard, embarrassment sick in his stomach at the idea that Auston might think he’s- like, invited him along so he could pine over him or something, like Willy would _ever_. He tosses out the first thing that comes to mind, to throw Auston off the topic. “You gonna ever let me fuck you?”

Now it’s Auston’s turn to go all tense, and his mouth goes all tight at the corners before he drops Willy’s gaze.

Willy feels like shit. Just total garbage. He’s so not about like, pressuring someone for anal, because he’s not that kind of asshole, and he genuinely likes bottoming, and it’s really none of his business what Matts does or doesn’t want to do, because they’re not- it’s not Willy’s thing to be concerned with.

He just. He panicked.

“Sorry,” he says, quiet, once the baseball announcers have been the only sound for a while. “You obviously don’t have to.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Auston says, and there’s an edge in his voice, really hard, like when they’re down three going into the third.

“I know you know that,” Will says.

Auston makes a sound like ‘hmph’, really grumpy.

The quiet’s bad again, awkward like before and just as tense. And Willy thinks that part is mostly him, at first, but then Auston’s like, plucking at the sheets, all awkward, and his shoulders are up high, like he’s hiding.

It’s weird.

“What,” Willy asks, and Auston shakes his head, stays quiet. Willy thinks that’s going to be it, because he’s not about to push the issue, only then:

“I thought about it,” Auston says, halting. Like he’s admitting something. “I- like, I have, by myself.”

It takes Will a second to get it, then, _oh._ It’s the most ludicrously hot thing ever, is Will’s first thought, but his second thought is that Matts probably needs him to be more of a friend than a fuckbuddy, right now. “But not with someone else?” he prompts, and Auston shrugs.

“Usually when I get with guys it’s like. A different dynamic than you and me have.” He bites his bottom lip, does that frowny face that means he’s thinking. “I’m usually more, like- I’m more the one who would, like...”

Auston doesn’t continue. Will’s pretty sure he gets what he’s trying to say, anyways.

“Sorry,” he says, more just a thing to say than a real apology. He leans his head on Auston’s shoulder, knows Matts’ll get it.

Auston shrugs, again. Maybe scoots a little closer. “It’s not bad,” he says, really neutral. “Just hookups, it’s not like it means anything.”

And yeah, there it is, and Willy can’t even pretend like he didn’t see it coming.

It hurts anyways, getting knocked back to Earth full-force.

Auston’s apparently exhausted his emotional capacity for one night, because he flings an arm around Willy, oblivious, and tugs him in to sleep. Willy lets him, because he’s like, a glutton for punishment, apparently.

Auston hooks up with other people. He basically said it himself, _it’s not like it means anything_ , and Willy’s not about to start thinking he’s some kind of exception, except for how he keeps doing it, keeps wondering what if.

It’s not his fault. He tries not to think about it but it’s just- it’s there, and it’s loud, and it’s really hard to ignore sometimes, all the time, this stupid love thing.

\---

They’re going to be Leafs for most of the next decade and probably more, is the problem, and Will’s already been hooking up with Matts for two, and that’s already far too much time to invest in one person, and that’s not even including all the stupid love stuff he keeps thinking, because _that,_  that’s-

That’s its own fucking problem.

Auston Matthews doesn’t do relationships, and neither does William Nylander. They both know that. It works well for them: they’re young and rich and don’t want to be tied down, and they have the hottest sex Willy’s ever had, and he’s never once had to worry about Auston doing something stupid like falling for him the way most people do, because they’re on the same page about this stuff.

Or. They were.

Willy’s not really sure when his stomach started doing flips every time Matts does something nice. He doesn’t- like, he’s not immune to crushes, but he’s never had one for this long. He gets bored of people pretty quick, usually, and he doesn’t like people thinking they know him or worse, actually knowing him.

Except-

Except sometimes, when he and Auston are flying into each other’s arms after connecting on a goal or talking about their families or just being close in those weird quiet moments after orgasms, William gets dumb enough to think _maybe._

That’s the point of this whole summer, really. Getting rid of that maybe.

It’s a good plan, in theory. Willy figured that being together for this long, one on one every day, would finally dull whatever shine his brain puts on Matts, would help Willy get bored of him like he does of most people. Probably hate him, too, because Will can hate people pretty easily.

He keeps waiting for it to happen, for himself for stop wanting to be around Auston. To stop wanting stuff he shouldn’t want.

Except it hasn’t, quite yet. He hasn’t.

\---

There’s a giant moose at the side of the road, so obviously they stop.

It’s not a real moose, which is a little bit of a bummer because Willy’s never seen one in person – can you say in person if one of the people involved is a moose? – before, but it’s a fun photo op, and it’s something other than road and fields, so they get out of the car and ham around a little.

Willy strikes a pose next to the moose’s leg, real suggestive, and it makes Matts laugh.

“That’s a new profile pic, right there,” he says, holding up his phone to get the picture. “I’m sending that to the groupchat.”

Willy takes a picture of him sending the picture, after, of Auston bent over his phone with that too-focused look he gets when he’s doing anything. It’s not the kind of picture Willy can post. He doesn’t delete it, anyways, just looks at Auston on the screen so he won’t be tempted to look at him in real life.

There’s not much around except for the giant moose and a tiny excuse for a convenience store, but they linger anyways, stretching their legs and waiting for the guys in the Coke truck to finish refilling the vending machine so they can get drinks for the road. There are maybe three or four other non-workers at the place. Not exactly a tourist trap. Two of the other people, a couple, this woman and her boyfriend, take a picture kissing next to the moose.

“So fucking dumb,” Matts laughs under his breath at Willy’s side, and Willy shrugs, mostly focused on replying to the chirps in the groupchat.

“Cute-dumb.” Over at the moose, the couple is laughing, and the woman’s goading her boyfriend into doing all these poses.

Auston rolls his eyes, disparaging. “Bullshit place to go for a date,” he says. “I give them, like, a week.”

His words sit there, resolving into something heavy and ugly in Will’s gut. It shouldn’t: he’s always known how Auston feels about relationships, fuck, he’s always felt the same. He just- it’s nothing he didn’t already know, but it feels like getting slapped all the same.

Will’s been fooling himself, in B.C. and Alberta and fucking Saskatchewan, letting himself think that this might maybe be something it’s not. Like there’s any chance of it being anything but a dumb bet between two lineys with no one keeping score.

He’s been an idiot.

The guys over by the store slam the vending machine closed.

“Finally,” Auston says, and he even cracks a smile as he gets up to head over and buy a drink. Willy watches him go, glances over at the couple one more time.

Willy’s not going to get his heart broken here, that’s not what this is about. That’s not happening to him. He’s not going to let it.

\---

It’s a rest stop bathroom, which is objectively disgusting; but it’s also a big enough stall for both of them, and it locks, and there’s enough people around that background noise isn’t an issue when Willy decides to get a head start on checking Manitoba off their list.

“Fuck, Will,” Auston gasps out, right in Willy’s ear, and the wall of the stall creaks warningly where he’s got Matts pressed back into the corner, sucking a bruise under his jaw.

It’s risky – they’re getting closer to Leafs territory, and there’s the whole in public thing, but this is what Willy wants, quick and fast and efficient. Nothing romantic about it, nothing for his brain to latch onto.

He’s already got a hand down Auston’s pants, jerking him off without bothering to start slow, and it’s a bad angle for his wrist, for everything. Auston kisses him through it, has good enough coordination to do that and get Will’s fly down and wrap a hand around him too, and it’s quick from there, both of them leaning in close, breathing up against each other’s mouths when they come. It feels kind of dirty, sexier than it should be, knowing there are people around.

Auston catches Willy’s eye, smirks. “Manitoba,” he says, and Willy high fives him with the hand not covered in jizz, drops his gaze.

Matts drives, once they’re out of the stall and away from the rest stop. Cranks up the music before they pull out, real loud, enough to get dirty looks from the road tripping families in minivans parked all around them. Willy wonders if they’re becoming juvenile delinquents. Regular delinquents? He doesn’t mind it.

He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes so he won’t get caught up in looking at the hickey at the top of Auston’s neck. He wonders if it hurts. Wonders if it’s bad that he hopes it does, just a little, just enough to feel.

\---

He’s losing track of how many parks there are in this stupidly big country. Over-under, he’d have to go with at least a trillion, which would be boring but not terrible, if it weren’t for the fact that every national park they come across is an excuse for Auston to actively ruin Willy’s life.

“Got a leaf in your hair,” Matts says, two hours into their hike, and he reaches up to brush it out of Willy’s hair before Willy can do it himself. It’s this gentle, light little gesture. Auston’s hands are really big, to be so gentle. The kind of thing Willy could do a double take over, if he wasn’t good at stopping himself.

He gets butterflies in his stomach, when Auston reaches up and gets that leaf. Highly unwelcome butterflies – those are Will’s first reaction, and his next, a split second later, is _no._  Just no. He’s not doing this cute, tucking back each other’s hair thing.

“There you go,” Auston says, ages too late. All self-satisfied. Will doesn’t know where the fuck he gets this from, his cocktail of dismissive and attentive and affectionate and chirping. It’s like- ‘cocktail’ isn’t even the right word, it’s a line of gasoline shots.

 _You’re not getting hurt here,_ Willy reminds himself, forceful, and the rest of the hike drags even though he practically power walks it, all the way until they’re back in the deserted parking lot and it’s starting to get dark and he can crawl right into the passenger seat and perch in Auston’s lap.

It’s better than the first time they got off in the car. Practice making perfect, or something. Coach would be proud.

“West coast hick jail?” Matts protests, really half-heartedly, considering how hard he is already, how he’s already tugging at Will’s shorts.

“We’re not on the west coast,” Willy says, focused on undoing the button of Matts’ pants, clumsy with it.

“That was a joke, man,” Auston says, soft, and Willy kisses him hard enough that their teeth clack together.

“Stop talking,” he orders, and keeps his lips on Auston’s so he won’t try to talk again. “I’m gonna ride you.”

Auston groans, all breathless – so, okay, Matts apparently has a thing for getting bossed around. Willy could kind of care less right now, finally getting Auston’s dick out of his underwear and jerking him, real fast, to get him fully hard.

It’s dusk out, just dark enough to make Willy fumble when he reaches back to grab a condom and the little packet of lube from his wallet. He’s tense, this awful mix of horny and not-quite-nervous, still dwelling on Auston brushing that little leaf from his hair, all sweet.

“Let me,” Auston says, and Will shakes his head.

“I can.”

He barely preps himself, all rushed, which doesn’t strike him as a bad call until he’s gritting his teeth, sinking down on Auston’s cock and trying not to audibly gasp at the size of him. It’s the good kind of hurting, the kind that’s a reminder – you’re here, you’re fucking in a car, that’s the extent of this.

Will probably compensates a little for the initial uncertainty, bouncing on Auston’s dick until his thighs are burning with the effort. He hits his head on the ceiling of the car multiple times, which is probably the least sexy he’s ever been, but they both come eventually, and Matts doesn’t try any more cute shit, and- it’s fine.

(“You hit your head,” Auston says, once they’re driving toward the city, keeping their eyes out for motels with vacancy signs.

“It’s fine,” Willy says.

“Should probably ice it,” Auston says, all wise, and then he grins, just at the corner of his mouth. “Ha. Ice it.”

 _Dork_ , is Willy’s first thought, pathetically fond; then, _shit._ )

\---

He messes shit up on purpose, because that’s usually how he does things.

Will knows he’s in his own head, knows Auston can tell from how he tries harder than usual to make conversation the next couple days. That - the trying - is enough of a novelty that Willy would usually be excited about it, but as is, he just picks at his expensive dinner, tense, and wonders if there are any more spas nearby.

“Earth to William,” Auston waves a hand in front of Willy’s face. “Hello.”

Willy swats his hand away, startled. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted to split a dessert,” Auston says, and he’s technically asking a question, but he manages to sound all judgey at the same time. The Auston Matthews Special.

“We can just get the cheque if we’re done,” Willy says, because the alternative is using tiny cute dessert forks to share cake with Auston, and Willy’s not delusional enough to pretend like that will do him any favours in the ‘not being in love’ department.

“Oh,” Auston says, and Willy turns to look for the waiter before he can let himself register the look on Auston’s face. It’s not- Auston can handle a mildly bruised ego. Nothing to feel guilty about. He’ll get over it, and Willy figures there’s no point in wasting time on that front, so he waits ‘til they’re through the door of their hotel room and not a second longer before kissing Auston, hard.

Auston makes this surprised sound against Willy’s lips, like he wasn’t expecting this tonight, as if there’s any other reason either of them is here. He kisses back, though, after a second, and Willy doesn’t mind taking the lead, getting his hands in Auston’s hair and guiding them backwards into the room.

“Will,” Auston breathes out, all low and husky, and Willy tugs on his bottom lip and it does what he wants, gets Auston to groan and push back until Willy’s pressed back against the wall, the panelled siding digging into his hip. “We-”

“Fuck me,” Willy requests, maybe kind of orders, cutting right to the chase. “Hard, come on, here like this.”

“Jesus,” Auston says, all taken aback, but he’s already got a hand low on Willy’s back, holding onto him, eager maybe a little in spite of himself. “Are you-”

Willy cuts him off, “Come _on,_  don’t be useless,” and kisses him once, mostly to keep him from talking, before trying to turn around, to get Auston where he wants him. Except- Auston doesn’t let him,holding him in place by his hips so that they’re face to face, so Willy doesn’t have a choice but to meet his eyes.

He looks _worried_.

“You’re being weird,” Auston says, at just enough of a distance that Willy can’t kiss him. “You’ve been being weird.” It’s either an accusation or a question and Willy can’t decide what’s worse.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” he asks, annoyed, tilting his hips into Auston’s just enough to make his point. Getting right in his space.

“I don’t know,” Auston says, this weird mix of confused and frustrated, standing there tenting in his pants, and Willy’s just-

It takes him a second to get it, and then he’s just humiliated, and it hits like a truck. He can feel his cheeks burning hot at getting rejected, because that’s basically what’s happening and that doesn’t happen to him. He’s William Nylander, he’s not- this is exactly what he was trying to avoid.

He summons up every last shred of dignity he has to shove Auston off of him. “You’re so pointless sometimes,” he says, and it sounds dumb even to him, mean without any real direction or sharpness.

“Dude, you’re clearly, like-” Auston starts, and he doesn’t even have the courtesy to sound insulted instead of concerned for Willy’s wellbeing, which is none of his business, so there.

“I need to shower,” Willy says, and leaves for the bathroom, shuts the door with unsteady hands. He locks it, too, which they haven’t been bothering with for ages, runs the water and stands there in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

Auston doesn’t come knock at the door. It’s not like Willy is expecting him to. Not like he even _wants_ him too. Like- he can’t even picture how that would go, the two of them crying into each other’s arms or something. Gross.

Still. Auston doesn’t knock.

William does actually shower, sooner rather than later. Spends ages soaping up his hair and standing under the water until he can’t really justify it anymore, and then he brushes his teeth for nearly as long before he decides he’s maybe pushing it and forces himself to leave the bathroom

Auston doesn’t talk while Willy gets his sweatpants out of his bag. He’s just on the bed, leaning against the headboard and doing something on his phone. There’s space next to him on the bed that Willy doesn’t let himself overthink before lying down.

Auston doesn’t even wait until Willy’s ass is fully on the bed before piping up. “So that was something,” he says. He sounds vaguely disinterested, looking at his phone and only half-paying attention. Something intentional about it, all the same, not anywhere near as cool as he’s meaning it to be. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you,” Willy says, just as disinterested. He can keep up with Auston. He’s always been able to.

He grabs for a pillow, and Auston sits up a little to make it easier. Willy stuffs it behind his head, and they’re both shifting around a little, trying to get comfortable. It’s not. Nothing close.

Auston’s still holding his phone, but he chews his lip, and when he speaks a while later, it’s hesitant like he never really is. “Is it about the me bottoming thing?”

Willy laughs, mean, and rolls his eyes. “One of us is obsessed with you getting fucked, Matty, and it’s not me.”

That does it, pretty much.

“Okay, what’s with you?” Auston demands, putting down his phone so forcefully the bed shakes. He’s glaring at Willy, and Willy keeps his face carefully neutral.

“Nothing.”

Auston does this harsh, scoff of a laugh, like nothing’s funny at all. “You’re- like, you’re not speaking to me all of sudden?”

“I’ve spoken to you.”

“To tell me what to do while we’re having sex.”

“You don’t like having sex?” Willy shoots back, and they’re both glaring at each other nose to nose, and the air’s thick as anything, practically suffocating.

“Obviously I do,” Auston says. “You’re just being-”

“What am I being?”

“Weird,” Auston snaps, and Willy drops his gaze, feels Auston’s still on him, like he’s going to say something else, but: “Forget it.”

“Don’t make it some big drama thing,” Willy says. He knows Auston, knows that it’ll piss him off most to imply he’s being the unchill one, here. That he’s caring too much.

True to form, Auston’s cheeks go red, but his gaze goes cold. “Drama would imply I care, so. Don’t have to worry about it.”

So they both know how to hurt each other effectively. It’s probably heartwarming, in a weird way, except for how badly it sucks.

Willy’s not going to react. He’s _not._ “Good.”

“Good,” Auston echoes, all scowly.

The bed creaks when he gets up. Willy sits there, watches him rustling through his bag, pulling on a shirt and grabbing his wallet. He doesn’t say anything.

“Where’re you going?” Willy asks, awkward. He wonders if this is it, if Auston’s finally decided that Willy’s more trouble than he’s worth.

“To book another room,” Auston says, and stomps for the exit. “See you tomorrow.”

He slams the door behind him, and then Will’s all alone for the first time since they left Vancouver.

So.

Good. This is-

This is good.

Will smushes his face into a pillow. Thinks about yelling. Doesn’t, because he’s not the yelling type.

Auston said he’d see Willy tomorrow. That means he’s not, like. Gone-gone, not for good. It’s one night. It’s- like, Willy doesn’t even care, rationally. It’ll be nice to stretch out in bed, to have the room to himself. This is basically what he was hoping for, honestly, getting Matts to quit the couple shit, because they’re not that, they never were.

Willy’s happy about this, technically. And- Auston throwing that out about him not even caring, as if Willy didn’t already know that. So, really, an asshole thing to say, and a useless one, at that.

The room’s quiet.

Willy misses him. It’s one fucking night, and he misses him.

\---

The GPS is the only one talking, the whole morning.

It’s exactly as awful as it sounds.

Bright side is, William gets to amend his hatred of road trips to reflect the fact that sure, driving cross-country kind of sucks, but driving cross-country with someone who’s not speaking to you sucks on an entirely different level.

They eat breakfast in silence and leave ages before the checkout time. Auston just sits in the passenger seat with his headphones in, staring out the window, and it’s not like Willy can listen to the radio, because it’s only country music and upbeat rock out here, so he just drives in silence. It’s _hours,_  like that, and it’d probably be hours more, just Auston sulking and Willy stewing there being sad until the car breaks down, because-

Yeah, that happens.

It’s nothing dramatic. Just the engine sputtering a few times then cutting out entirely, and they’re on some mostly-deserted western Ontario road, so it’s not actually dangerous, per say, just kind of a slow realization.

“We’re out of gas?” Auston asks, first thing he’s said all day, as the car limps to the side of the road, and Willy shakes his head, because the gauge still shows that they have at least half a tank.

Auston takes out his headphones. A motorbike whizzes past.

“It’s a rental,” Willy says, stupid. Like it matters. “They said like, luxury.” He pulls out his phone, ready to dial a tow truck or something, but he’s got no service.

“I have no bars,” Auston says, obviously on the same page, because he always is, except for the fact that they’re currently not really speaking, and this is it, the excuse Willy’s been waiting for to hate his guts, but he’s still sitting here and loving him and look where it fucking got them.

It’s that, maybe, that realization that hits Willy, and then he just- he can’t fucking do this, can’t keep loving the biggest idiot in the world and being trapped on the side of some middle of nowhere dirt road with no phone, no nothing but shitty music and his own stupid traitor feelings. This is his whole summer, right here.

“Fuck,” Willy says, and he’s not even thinking, just lashes out and hits the steering wheel, hard so it hurts. “ _Fuck_ this car.”

“Woah,” Auston says. “It’s fine.”

“Nothing’s fine,” Willy snaps, or tries to, except his voice breaks completely mortifyingly halfway through, like he’s some kind of pathetic preteen, and he can feel Auston staring at him, stunned, and he’s stunned at himself but he can’t be in this car right now, can’t be here.

It takes him a couple tries to undo his seatbelt and storm out of the car, he’s so frazzled. He knows Auston’s teetering on the edge of saying something, doesn’t linger to hear if he does, just stalks maybe ten feet from the car and stands there trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he says again, to no one. Mostly just to say it.

He doesn’t lose his temper like that, ever. He doesn’t _have_ a temper, doesn’t feel anything that strong and sure as hell not outwardly. That’s not him.

It’s settling in slow, like a layer over Willy’s whole body, embarrassment and stress and too much emotion, too much everything. He’s going to have to deal with the car, and to explain everything to Auston, and he just-

He hears the car door open and braces himself. Listens to footsteps crunching on the gravel behind him, stopping a couple feet back.

“You good?” Auston asks.

Willy nods.

"There was a gas station a while back,” Auston says, and it sounds careful, neutral. “Let’s just walk there, okay?”

Willy turns to look at him, ends up staring mostly at his chest. Eye contact feels like a lot to ask, right now, especially since they’re still technically in a fight, and Auston probably thinks he’s crazy.

He nods again. “Okay,” he says, and how about that, he manages to make it sound mostly neutral too, and there’s a second’s space where it feels like one of them should say something, but then Auston does a jerky little nod and starts walking, so Willy follows him.

It takes nearly forty minutes to get back to the last gas station they passed. A couple of trucks pass them without slowing down. They don’t speak, and when they finally arrive, Willy sits on the rickety bench outside and lets Auston deal with the station attendant and call a tow truck. The tow truck guy shows up in a Leafs t-shirt, which- great. It’s great.

Tow truck guy takes one look at their car and tells them it’ll take at least a couple of days to fix, offers them a drive and talks hockey the whole way, except for when he pauses to say, “I’m sure there’s room at Penny’s”, which turns out to be this quaint little b&b fifteen minutes’ drive away, with perfectly groomed flower beds and an old lady tottering around who Willy assumes is Penny.

Between the walking and getting their bags into and out of the truck and everything today, Willy’s exhausted and he’s pretty sure Auston’s feeling the same. All he wants is a bed, honestly, but Penny doesn’t look particularly happy to see them. Not a hockey fan, then.

“This is a quiet couples getaway,” she says. “We generally don’t rent rooms to young people.” She says ‘young people’ like she expects them to bust out a keg and start blasting dubstep. Which- Will just wants to sleep, and he’s genuinely considering bribery to get this woman to let them have a room, but then Auston speaks.

“It’d just be the two of us, ma’am,” Auston says, and Penny’s eyebrows fly up.

“Couple’s trip?” she asks, maybe a shade softer than before.

“Just married, actually,” Auston lies smoothly, grabbing Willy’s hand and lacing their fingers. He either doesn’t see or ignores the look that Willy can’t help but give him. “We didn’t even have time to get a ring, it was a really big rush... no one knows about us, you see.” He ducks his head, almost bashful. Good Canadian Boy style, like maybe he’s been picking up tips from the guys.

Penny melts. “Oh, sweethearts,” she says, reaching out to squeeze Auston’s free hand. “Come on in.”

Matts is impressive, sometimes. Well- a lot of the time, but impressive for how good at bullshitting he is, sometimes. Like he’d ever be the type to get married. Like they’d ever.

They trail Penny up the stairs, still holding hands, to a smallish room like something in a picture book, right down to the patchwork quilt and embroidered pillows. Like Willy’s grandmother’s house on steroids. He hopes his hand isn’t sweaty.

He’s all but asleep on his feet by the time they’ve lugged all their stuff upstairs, and Penny’s barely done promising to come by with clean towels when Willy shuts the door. It’s a blissful relief at being able to sleep that lasts maybe a second before sinking into, like, abject dread, because the tiredness was preferable to being trapped in a room and having to explain his roadside freakout to the guy he’s currently failing at not loving.

Willy waits for it, standing there, but Matts doesn’t call him out, just dumps his bags on the floor.

“This is cozy,” Auston says, dry. He jumps onto the bed, arms folded behind his head. The springs creak, loud, and there’s a pointed cough from downstairs.

Thin walls. Willy wants to laugh. Also maybe to cry.

“You gonna sleep standing up?” Auston asks, and that’s as close to permission as anything. The bed creaks again, quieter, as Willy lies down next to him.

Auston looks over at him and opens his mouth to speak.

“Stop being nice to me,” Willy says, cutting him off before he can speak. “It’s weird when you’re nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Auston says, which he’s got to know for a fact is a lie; but something must register because he keeps his mouth shut, doesn’t try to be supportive or to argue or to do anything.

“Don’t tell anyone I lost it like that earlier,” Willy says, and hates how pathetic it sounds.

He’s not expecting Auston to laugh. “You barely even raised your voice, man,” he says, all bemused. “That’s not losing it.”

Will shakes his head, small. “It is for me.” It’s the truth – he doesn’t freak out like that ever, doesn’t let himself show that much negative, especially not in front of someone. This trip is fucking with his head.

Auston just rolls his eyes. “Breaking news, William Nylander has an emotion.”

He doesn’t look like he hates Willy, or like he’s making fun of him. Doesn’t look like anything but himself.

“Are you still mad?”

Auston shrugs. “Like, ten percent, max.”

Willy thinks about it. “That’s not bad.”

"Nope,” Auston agrees, and he nudges his knee against Willy’s, on purpose, it feels like. “Honestly even like seven or eight percent, most likely.”

He’s joking, is what Willy realizes, then, and that means that he’s not mad, and _that-_

“I thought you’d probably be sick of me by now,” Willy says. He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, his voice even.

“I’ll let you know when it happens,” Auston says, and when Willy peeks over towards him, he’s staring at the ceiling too, too deliberately to not be on purpose.

Willy breathes out in a puff, and surprises himself with a smile that he has to bite his lip to hide.

He’s- this is stupid. This is _so_ stupid, how happy he is all of a sudden, about the most pathetically minimal amount of validation, but he _is_ , just so utterly relieved he feels faint.

“Your brain went right to us being married,” he says, and it’s forced, for chirping, but it’s the best olive branch he can muster up. “Try to be more chill about your pathetic crush on me, Matty, eh?”

“Eh,” Auston says – olive branch received, Will figures – and then he yawns, huge and kind of ugly. Willy wants to, like, run a finger across his teeth, to touch Auston’s lips with his lips. He’s been on a knife’s edge all day, waiting for things to fall apart for good, and now they aren’t. Willy was an asshole, on purpose, and Matts is still here.

Willy wriggles out of his shorts, kicks them off the bed. Fluffs up his pillow and glances over at Auston one more time before lying down again. Auston looks contemplative, frowning just a little, like he’s thinking.

“I’m not asking to be nice,” he prefaces, after a minute. “Just, like- are you gonna tell me what I did?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Willy says.

“Why you were mad, then,” Auston pushes, and he’s looking right at Willy now, searching. There’s something about his face- Willy almost tells him the truth right then and there, almost just comes out and says it, that he-

“It’s not really the kind of thing I can say,” Willy hedges; then, when Auston looks like he might try to talk again, “Can we just- let’s just be normal again, okay?”

It takes Auston a second. “I don’t get you, sometimes,” he says.

“Me neither,” Will says, honest, and he meets Auston’s eyes, holds his gaze.

Auston sighs. Shakes his head, like, _seriously, William,_  but then he does the smallest little smile and Willy smiles back and-

They’re both here. Willy’s entire brain is a dumpster fire of stupid gooey feelings and this always-there need to run, but they made up, and they’re both here, for now, and a night like tonight, he’ll take it.

\---

They’re stuck in the middle of nowhere until the car is fixed, but as far as nowheres go, this one is pretty okay. It’s not even a small town, because ‘town’ implies that there’s some kind of, like, identifiable group of buildings, but there’s Penny’s bed and breakfast, and there’s a mostly-paved road, and a quiet little pond a twenty minute walk away.

They nap in the sun for a decent chunk of the morning, lying there by the pond in their swim trunks. Will sets an alarm on his phone to remind himself to turn over so he’ll get an even tan, because he likes the way it makes his hair look brighter. Auston gives him shit for it, the way he’s supposed to. It feels familiar, more them than they’ve been in days and days, this almost-imperceptible shift in something between them.

“You think they’re gonna retire our jerseys, one day?” Willy asks.

Auston shrugs a shoulder, eyes still shut, using his rolled up shirt as a pillow. “If we win.”

Willy copies him, shuts his eyes and sees the sun making patterns on his eyelids. “You think we’ll win?”

“We could,” Auston says. “We’ve got the rest of our careers.”

“Unless they get rid of us,” Willy counters, but Auston doesn’t even hesitate.

“They’d be stupid to get rid of us,” he says, all confident. Confidence he’s earned. They’ve earned. He’s right, probably.

That’s the scary part, probably.

Willy can see it, is the thing, their jerseys hanging in the rafters side by side, their numbers stamped onto the city for the rest of forever. ‘Cause it would be forever, in Toronto. They’d be- it’d be something permanent, indelible. Inescapable.

“Never played for a team more than a couple years,” Auston pipes up, after a few minutes of quiet. Same wavelength as Willy, same as always. “Never even in one city, I don’t think.” Willy opens his eyes and turns to look at him, and Auston’s already looking back. “You’ve already been my liney longer than anyone.” He doesn’t say it sappy. Just stating a fact.

“We’re gonna be like, thirty by the time we stop,” Willy says. More facts. Does it count as a fact if it doesn’t feel real, yet?

“Way longer than anyone,” Matts amends, and he does a little crooked smile there, at the end, one that Willy can’t help but return.

“You sleep with all your lineys?” Willy asks, teasing, reaching out to poke at Auston’s stomach.

Auston glances down at Willy’s hand, then meets his eyes, wry. “My lineys don’t usually look like you,” he says.

Willy raises an eyebrow. “Now you’re going to pretend like you’re picky?”

“I’m picky,” Auston insists, which is blatant, obvious lie; then, when Willy laughs, he relents, flicking Willy’s hand away from him. “Man, fuck off, you’re easy too.”

“Sometimes,” Willy allows, and there’s probably a lot of things he could blame for the honesty, but whatever the reason, he keeps talking, doesn’t try to stop himself. “I usually don’t like people enough to spend that much time with them,” he says. “Just my family. They’re stuck with me.”

His brain does the thing it always does, when he gets too real. Like- shrinking away. He wants to jump in the pond and hide.

Auston just yawns, sitting up and leaning on his hands so he’s staring down at Willy. “I’m technically stuck with you too,” he chirps, mild. “Contractually, I mean.”

Willy scoffs a laugh. Thinks that’ll be that, only Auston doesn’t look away from him, some expression on his face that Willy can’t quite place.

“I’d still like you if I wasn’t, though,” Auston says.

“Aw,” Willy says, to distract himself from the way his heart leaps, at that. A day and a half of not speaking to each other, barely, and this is how he reacts. He’s hopeless.

Auston reaches over, runs his fingers along a strand of Willy’s hair. It manages to be an absent gesture and a really deliberate one at the same time, both of them watching his hand. The back of his hand brushes Willy’s cheek.

Willy closes his eyes, breathes out. It doesn’t come out as steady as he wants it. He’s seen his dad get traded a million times, seen it happen to the rest of the league as well. “Rest of our careers is a really long time,” he says. He doesn’t know if it’s a question, doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

“Yeah,” Auston says. Quiet, like he gets it.

“It’s scary,” Willy admits, and his eyes are still closed so he doesn’t see how Auston reacts. His mind goes to the worst conclusion in the half-heartbeat before there’s pressure on his chest as Auston lies down, flopping right on top of Willy. It’s like- joking, partly, more playfighting than cuddling, but the weight is comforting, solid, and it’s not words but it’s near enough, for the two of them.

It’s too sticky to lie around for long, the sun beating down, so they end up in the water, eventually. The pond’s not quite big enough for laps or anything like that, but they wade around, standing on their toes in the centre and talking on and off about nothing in particular, until it becomes about something.

“Don’t make fun of me if I bring it up,” Auston says, mostly out of nowhere.

“Bring what up?” Willy asks, and it’s a real question, he genuinely doesn’t know, but Auston squirms like he thinks Willy’s messing with him.

“Like,” he drags a hand through his hair, stares up at the sky then down at the water. Lets the silence stretch out for ages, ‘til he manages to speak. It comes out barely more than a mumble. “Like, if you were going to fuck me, or whatever.”

And Willy just- he’s not surprised to hear it, exactly, but he thinks he should be, because it was a shitty thing for him to bring up the first time, and it’s shitty that it’s clearly been bothering Auston enough that he’s still dwelling on it.

“I was just being a jerk,” Willy says, honest. “You know I’m okay either way. Seriously.”

“Okay, but-” Auston breaks off, and Willy waits, but he just stands there, red. “I don’t know.”

It’s quiet, just the water lapping on the bank and the trees rustling around them.

Auston said ‘but’.

Willy looks over at him. Wonders if he’s maybe not the only one bad at wanting things.

“You keep bringing it up,” Willy says, careful. Not implying anything, because this is already delicate, already tip-toeing next to something honest.

“It’s not like I don’t want to,” Auston says, so, yeah, Willy was getting that. “I’m just happy the way stuff is now.”

“You can like both,” Willy reminds him, because it’s the truth.

“I get that, like logically,” Auston says, and he dashes his hand across the surface of the water, sends little ripples out. Avoiding Willy’s gaze, maybe, a little. “Just.”

Willy bites his tongue. “Just.”

Matts shrugs. “There’s a solid chance that it’s homophobia?” More ripples.

Willy stares at him. It’s more gaping than staring, maybe. “You’re literally a gay person,” he says, stunned. “We’re driving across Canada being gay together, and you think you’re homophobic?”

“Not, like, _actually,_ ” Auston squirms, all embarrassed. “Just with my hangups about bottoming and like, how it relates to manliness or whatever.” He looks at Willy, and Willy looks at him, and it’s weird and honest and open, and Willy holds out, like, two seconds before he breaks.

“Don’t fucking laugh!” Auston chides, but he’s laughing too, reluctant.

“I can’t not,” Willy giggles, helpless, and he has to wipe at his eyes; nearly chokes on water because he’s laughing so hard he forgets to keep his head up. “You’re so _angsty._ ”

“You’re literally the worst,” Auston says, and splashes him, but not hard enough to hide the way he’s smiling, cheeks pink from the sun or from blushing, Willy can’t tell.

Willy splashes him in return, jumps on Auston’s back to dunk him. Ends up bringing both of them under, grappling around, giggling. He’s not even sure it’s entirely- like, it’s not _that_ funny, Auston thinking that a dick in his ass is somehow gayer than a dick in his mouth, but between that and the two of them having something resembling an emotional conversation and how tense Willy’s been for so long, how in his own head, and the sun blinding him if he looks up, Willy feels young, like what he thinks a road trip in his twenties with his best friend should feel like, like in movies.

They’re barely an inch apart, nose to nose, soaking wet. Willy leans forward to nudge against Auston.

“What we both want,” he says. “Yeah?”

Auston nods, and there’s the smallest second of looking at each other before he leans in and kisses Willy like he’s saying something, and Willy can’t translate, exactly, but he wraps his legs around Auston’s waist and lets Auston keep them both above water.

\---

Willy’s tanned gold and Auston’s sunburnt red by the time they’re back at the bed and breakfast and get roped into dinner with Penny. Which- it’s whatever, or it should be, just food and being charming young men around an old lady, but then Penny gets out the sparkling wine and a homemade pie.

“You really didn’t have to,” Will demurs, watching Matts struggle to uncork the bottle, but Penny waves him off, beaming.

“Don’t be silly, it’s your honeymoon!”

So. There’s that, too.

Auston’s a shitty liar, for the fact that them being, like, tragic gay just-eloped husbands was the first lie to come to his mind. It’s been working out okay, though. They’re not the worst at pretending to be a couple, all things considered. It’s like- it’s them how they usually are, with more touching and less swearing and being something other than teammates somewhere other than in a bed.

It’s for their backstory, is Willy’s justification when he leans into Auston’s side, when he links their free arms as they drink their wine. It’s a nice evening, because the food’s good and Penny’s easy enough to talk to and it’s like whatever bubble he and Auston were in at the pond has carried over, circling around the two of them.

Penny sips her drink and clasps her hands on the table. “Now, I don’t think I’ve asked, how did you two get together?”

Auston glances over at Willy, makes the play. “We work together,” he says. “For a couple years, now, and it was- we were both pretty far from home. So.”

“He fell for my stunning looks, is what he’s not saying,” Willy jumps in, and Penny laughs while Matts kicks him under the table, and Willy can’t help but smile, it’s such a nice moment. “It’s alright, they’re my best quality.”

And it’s not- he’s not expecting a response there, because it’s not really anything, just filling up the quiet, but Auston shoots him another look, brow furrowed just a little.

“They’re not,” he says, like he thinks Willy’s being dumb, and Willy kind of- his brain glitches, for a second, and he does this laugh that sounds confused even to him, because what.

“Um,” he says, and Penny’s watching the both of them, eyes soft.

“What _is_ his best quality, then?” she asks, and Willy’s expecting patented Auston Matthews brand sarcasm, or at least something close, but Auston just shrugs. Barely even has to think about it at all.

“He really loves his family,” he says, simple. “I thought he was an asshole, but he literally gets so soft talking about his little siblings. Not even an asshole at all.”

“Language,” Penny reminds him, and it makes Auston laugh all sheepish so that he’s smiling when he meets Willy’s eyes, and he takes Willy’s breath away, a little.

No one’s ever said that about him, before.

The laughter gets rid of whatever moment of weirdness might have resulted from what Auston said - _a story_ , Willy reminds himself, _made up to act like we’re in love_ , and it’s harder than it should be to convince himself of that - but the night’s still got something new to it, sparks along Willy’s veins. The champagne is warming him inside-out, and Auston keeps shooting him these secretive little grins, and their legs are pressed together under the table.

They don’t stop touching once, not on their way back up to the room and not when they’re kissing in the doorway, nearly tripping over the carpet. The bed creaks warningly as they both tumble into it.

“Shh,” Willy whispers, but they’re both giggling as they get rid of their clothes, kicking the covers to the end of the bed. Auston pulls him in close and Willy touches at the plump part of Auston’s lips with his tongue so Auston’ll let him kiss into his mouth, as good as he can make it.

They’re both trying hard to be quiet, like, theoretically, but they’re also probably failing really bad. Maybe mostly Willy: Auston takes his time, touching him all over ‘til Willy’s squirming with it, ridiculously hard, and then Auston’s got a hand up to toy with one of Willy’s nipples and that’s hard too, the way he’s rubbing patterns, drags the barest hint of his nail to make Willy gasp.

So no surprise, Auston’s good with his hands, and they’re big enough that he can start jerking them off both at once, so their dicks are together, and it’s mostly too dry except for the pre-cum that Willy’s pretty sure is Auston’s, but he can’t even tell, they’re so close, so mixed up together.

“Here,” he says, getting an idea. “Like-” He scoots over to get one leg hooked over Auston’s, a better angle so he can cant his hips, fucking into Auston’s fist.

He wishes, absurdly, that he could get a picture of Matts’ face, when he starts doing that. Like- utterly floored, he looks like. Pretty stunning. And, see, it’s not what they were talking about, like actual fucking, just the barest suggestion of it, but it still feels like something different, like something that Auston’s letting happen. Only it’s not just letting, it’s- Auston’s eyes are dark, wanting, and that does it for Willy to a pretty embarrassing extent, and it gets worked up to desperate sooner rather than later, and Willy’s barely got enough presence of mind left to offer up a tiny mental apology to Penny for the noise that they’ve given up on trying to stop.

He sucks in a breath, sharp, when Auston presses down on the tip of his dick, and yeah, fuck being quiet, he doesn’t care about anything, can’t, when he’s this close, when they’re this close.

“Matts,” he says, and Auston nods fast like it was a question, and they don’t come quite at the same time, but nearly, and Will’s still floating from his orgasm when Auston tenses up next to him and comes with a shuddering breath, spilling into his own fist.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Auston’s saying, nonsense, and it’s nothing Willy hasn’t heard before, but it feels like it, feels new and huge and terrifying. “God, you’re so-”

Will tugs up Matts’ other hand, the one covered in their come, and puts a couple of Auston’s fingers in his mouth and sucks, light. Auston shivers, looking at him. It’s this weirdly tender, gross-sexy thing, and Willy wants to jump him but also to keep Matts looking at him this soft for the rest of his life; and he can’t place what he’s feeling right now, how _much_ he’s feeling right now.

 _What we both want,_  Willy said, in the water, earlier. And he knows what he wants, knows what he’s been wanting this whole time. Knows that it’s not the same as what Auston wants, which is to keep being lineys and fuckbuddies and do their dumb sex bet. No feelings, no nothing. And they’ve got half of summer left, less than half of the country, and getting over Matts on this trip was a long shot to begin with, probably, so Will just decides-

Fuck it. Fuck trying to get over this thing with them. Fuck inevitably getting his heart broken.

He’ll take what he can get, for as long as he can get it.

\---

They skip Toronto. It’s not even really a discussion.

“We could visit the guys,” Willy suggests, half-hearted, when the road signs start pointing out how far it is to the city.

“Yeah,” Matts agrees, neutral enough, but he doesn’t veer off at the exit.

Willy gets it. Toronto’s too much like home for a vacation, really, which is dumb, because this isn’t really a vacation and Toronto isn’t really home, because _that_ would be dumb, but- he gets it. This is a them thing, not a Leafs thing.

Will touches the back of Matts’ hand, just light. Not anywhere near holding hands, really.

Auston rubs at Will’s knuckles with his own, doesn’t look away from the road.

Willy pulls his hand away before he can think something cheesy about home.

\---

The old city in Quebec has walls and cobblestone streets, and it’s probably Willy’s new favourite place. It reminds him of Europe, in some ways, feels like it has history in a way that’s rarer this side of the ocean.

The past few days have been a lot of small motels and long stretches of driving, so they compensate, a little, hitting up all the stupidly overpriced boutique stores and spending most of the day shopping. They get matching bracelets for their sisters, and Auston gets a new leather bracelet, and Will finds some organic dark chocolate that his dad will like.

It feels coupley, is what Willy can’t help but notice, the two of them walking real close together and laughing at locals being weird and talking in low voices, in their own world. It _feels_ like their own world, private and companionable and just fun enough that Willy can be okay with the coupley thing.

And then, then, the _hotel room._

Willy ignores his bags, abandoned on the floor, and rubs his cheek on the silky sheets. “They’re so soft,” he sighs, blissful. “Something expensive, finally.”

“Spoiled,” Auston chirps, as if he’s not just as bad, in his four hundred dollar overly-patterned t-shirts.

Willy flings a pillow at his head – it’s feather, he bets, and he’s in _heaven_ – and Auston muffles Willy’s laughing with his lips, diving onto the bed and getting Willy pinned and kissing him so thoroughly Willy feels like he’s floating.

That part might also be the sheets. They’re _really_ soft. He’s never staying anywhere with less than five stars again.

He lays there, lets Auston do what he wants, because what he wants feels ridiculously good when what he wants is to tease at Will’s lips with his tongue, to open him up and kiss him, one hand at the side of his face, ‘til Willy’s squirming with it, his dick straining against his pants.

“I was going to shave before dinner,” he remembers, half out of his mind, because he’s been looking scruffy and some other reasons that don’t seem as important as they did five minutes ago.

“Later,” Matts says, and Willy’s teed up for a really good quip about French kissing in the French province, but his mouth is otherwise occupied really quick, and he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed about it.

It’s lighthearted, if vaguely frantic levels of horniness can be lighthearted. Not sophisticated, at least: they’re both still dressed, grinding like teenagers, slow at first then picking up until it builds to something urgent in Willy’s stomach and he’s grabbing at handfuls of Auston’s ass, tugging him down, chasing the feeling of his bulge against Auston’s.

Auston is polite enough or desperate enough to not call Willy out for basically dry humping him in a bed worth more than their apartments. “You think you can come like this?”

“Worth a shot,” Willy says, and it’s the right answer, judging by the way Auston grins and kisses him again with renewed energy, grinding down into him to make Willy gasp.

It’s probably too much effort for the kind of sex it is, a workout even by pro athlete standards and the friction straddling the border of good and too much. None of that matters, not once they both get lost in it so that close enough, fast enough don’t exist and they’re rolled over, legs tangled up, desperate.

“I’m close,” Auston chants, “I’m so fucking close, Willy, fuck-”

“Yeah,” Willy says, nodding furiously, because he can’t think in English right now, can’t think of anything except wanting more “Yeah, please-”

It reaches a peak all of a sudden, and Willy can’t hold back a sound somewhere between a groan and a shout when he comes, and it’s not even playing it up the way he usually does, he’s genuinely just there, utterly overwhelmed.

“Oh, fuck,” he’s vaguely aware of Auston saying, and Willy watches lazily as Auston gives up the whole frottage thing and pulls his dick out, jerks himself off and is coming all over Willy in maybe five seconds.

The whole ‘jizzed in my pants’ thing is highly overrated, after the fact, is a fact, but Willy does not care. Not even a tiny bit, when he’s got Matts sprawling next to him and they’re both breathing heavily, completely spent.

They’ve had a lot of sex, but that was _sex._

“You were going to shave,” Auston reminds Willy, eventually. “For dinner?”

Willy stares up at Auston, really thinks about it, as much as he can think about anything. “Later,” he decides, because Auston’s lips are swollen from making out and they’re both wearing too many clothes and Willy doesn’t think anyone could pay him to leave this bed, right now.

He grins, raises an eyebrow at Auston. “You’re wearing way too many clothes,” he says.

Auston gets the message, laughs bright and loud. “We _just_ finished,” he chides, but he leans in to press his lips to Willy’s and doesn’t pull back and Willy doesn’t either, content to stay in bed, rolling around in their pretty white sheets as the sun sets bright through the window, making the whole room glow.

\---

The silk sheets have been pretty thoroughly defiled by morning, but neither of them makes an attempt to move, not before breakfast in bed.

It’s a really gorgeous meal, if food can be gorgeous: savoury crepes on covered trays, a silvery carafe of coffee, heaping bowls of fruit and chocolate fondue. They eat all sprawled out, still naked, the sheets draped across Willy’s lap. The room is bright, all lit up with sun, because it’s closer to midday than morning.

“Hey,” Willy says, because he forgot to, last night. “Hey, got Quebec.” _Many times over,_  he adds in his head while they high five; then, out loud, “Suck it, Habs fans.”

“Like, Nordiques fans, here,” Matts corrects, all pedantic, and Willy rolls his eyes.

“You’re a loser,” he informs Auston, “So.”

The empty dishes clink as Auston crawls over to kiss him, and his lips taste like chocolate and coffee.

“You,” Auston retorts, plucking at where the sheet is pooled in Willy’s lap, “have chocolate on your face. So.”

And he really _has_ to climb into Auston’s lap and kiss him to shut him up, for that. One thing leads to another, and see, William genuinely didn’t think he had any orgasms left, but he’s very okay with being wrong for the honestly lazy but still good handjob he gets in return.

They just nap, after, sprawled out on top of the covers. It’s sleepy-slow, because neither of them got a ton of rest last night. Willy wonders if they could just stay in bed for the full day. They’re off to a decent start.

He drifts for a while, only fully waking up when Auston says, “Know what?”

“What?” Willy asks, reaching back to rub at where his neck is stiff.

“I never hooked up with anyone for this long,” Auston says. And he could mean, like, the past twenty-four hours, but he could also mean the past two years, because two years of hooking up mostly exclusively is. A lot.

“No one else wants to look at your face that much,” Willy chirps, because- yeah. A lot.

Auston’s looking at him, and the moment feels dangerous. Like- close to something Willy’s not sure he wants to get close to.

“What?” Willy asks.

“Why’d you want to do this trip?” Auston asks. “With me?”

“Fishing for compliments,” Will says, light, and usually that’d do it for a deflection, but Auston just purses his lips.

“You could just answer sometimes, you know,” he says. Not quite annoyed. Maybe more resigned.

“I-” Willy says, and then he snaps his mouth shut.

See, he _could_ just answer sometimes. He just- he doesn’t know what he’d say, what level of emotional realness Auston even wants from him. He doesn’t want to be the one to make shit too real, to be overly invested and embarrass them both. He doesn’t know if it’s a casual discussion thing or a getting deep thing or feelings or- that’s not- he doesn’t even know what that would look like.

Willy doesn’t mean for that little internal crisis to be, like, a visible face journey, but it apparently is anyways, or Auston’s just getting too good at reading him, because he grins.

“You never hooked up with anyone this long either,” he declares, all certain, and maybe even a little amused. This smug look. “And you’re blushing,” he says. “Got a crush?”

“Fuck you,” Willy retorts, quick, and Auston’s still smiling, so Willy reverts back to plan A, shuts him up with a kiss, then another one, quick and chaste. “Seriously, fuck you.”

They’re both laughing, now, a little, and Auston’s eyes are fond when he reaches up to tap the corner of Willy’s lips. “Still got chocolate on your face, liney.”

It takes Willy’s breath away sometimes, how – it sounds stupid – how _romantic_ Matts can be, without even trying.

“I call the last strawberry, liney,” Willy says.

 _Stop making me think you love me back,_  Willy doesn’t say; and he also doesn’t say _I hate your fucking guts for making me feel this much_ , even though he kind of wants to; or _I love you_ , even though it’s there in the back of his head, just like it mostly always is, nowadays.

He’s getting used to it, kind of.

\---

This is the way summers are supposed to be, Willy decides: eating lunch at little farmers markets, taking the odd selfie with fans. Driving, hours at a time, taking turns pushing the speed limit on meandering roads. Auston usually gets the aux cord. His music is growing on Willy, maybe.

Willy doesn’t know what’s shifting but he knows something is, has been since they fought back in Ontario. Like- like some wall he didn’t even realize was there is crumbling into nothing, on his side and maybe even on Auston’s, as they dawdle their way through New Brunswick.

“What’s Old Brunswick?” Willy asks, partly serious and partly for the face Matts’ll make as he decides whether or not it was a serious question.

“You’re an Old Brunswick,” is the answer he gives, after a second, so Willy figures he decided it wasn’t.

“Older than you,” he retorts, and Auston flips him off, one hand on the wheel, then reaches over and messes up Willy’s hair all fond before pulling back to his side of the car.

 _Shifting_ , Willy thinks, his heart skipping in his chest.

They keep driving. Stop to make fun of all the couples taking pictures in this big heart sculpture, because that’s probably just them.

Tuesday morning, they watch the sun come up while sitting on the hood of the car, parked outside the still-empty plaza. They’re returning the car later, because this is as far east as there are rental places, and Willy doesn’t think eulogizing their sedan over Tim Horton’s coffees was the plan, but that’s what they’re doing all the same.

“We’ve had some good times, in this car,” Willy says, as serious as he can. “She’s served us well, except for being too small and bad for sex and breaking down so we were stranded that one time.”

“Young legend,” Matts agrees, just as serious, only he’s worse at it than Willy; can’t manage to hide the corner of a smile. “Gone but never forgotten.” He pours out the dregs of his Iced Capp, all ceremonial.

 _I love you_ , Willy thinks, the way he’s doing more often than not, recently.

The weather’s been holding out for them, but it’s cloudy when they spend the day in PEI, which is not quite as tiny as it looks on Google Maps, but seems pretty close. Fulfillment of the bet is slightly complicated by the fact that they’re stuck carrying everything they’ve got, all their bags everywhere they go, but a bet is a bet and honestly, trading blowies in a bathroom is not their worst, probably.

“I still think-” Willy starts, after rinsing out his mouth with sink water, but Auston cuts him off before he can finish.

“Dude, we’re _not_ banging in the Green Gables house, I told you.”

“You’re so uninspired,” Willy says, but he’s leaning his chin on Auston’s shoulder, and Auston presses his nose into Willy’s cheek, all affectionate, so neither of them has much more bite than bark.

It’s full on raining by the time they’re back on a ferry, heading for Nova Scotia, this time. The weather’s nothing like inviting, not between the rain and the spray from the ocean, but they duck out from the cabin and find a little alcove on the deck anyways, right around the back of the boat so none of the other passengers can see them. And there’s a non-zero chance they could just get washed right overboard, but Willy thinks that a tsunami could hit and he wouldn’t even notice, not with Auston boxing him in, the way his white t-shirt is clinging to his torso like something out of a movie, soaked right to the skin. They’re both utterly drenched, both pressed close, the waves loud around them.

Auston pushes Will’s hair out of his face, tucks it back and just kind of leaves his hand there. A rivulet of water slides down his wrist, right in Willy’s peripheral.

“Hi,” Will says, quiet. A little bit out of breath, without really knowing why.

“Hey,” Matts says. Just as quiet, and then they’re just looking at each other, and the moment’s so big Willy can’t breathe, and then they’re kissing and the boat’s rocking and the rain is coming down in sheets. Auston’s hands are on either side of Willy’s face, and the taste of his lips is Willy’s favourite thing, and Willy just-

Willy’s a fucking goner, for this guy.

\---

Then:

They’re back at hotel and undressing out of their sopping clothes becomes kissing becomes sex, because this is them, and they’re kind of pros at sex, together. Only then, see, they’re on the bed with just a lamp lighting up the room, and Willy tears open the packet of lube and rubs his hands to warm it – he’s considerate as fuck, you’re welcome, Matthews – before reaching down; he’s intent on jerking Auston off, on getting him there quick, but Auston grabs Willy’s wrist, stopping him.

“You can,” Auston says, and it takes Willy a second to get it. “Like, fingers, if you want.”

Willy blinks. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. “Do you want to?”

“I-” Auston opens his mouth then closes it, and it’s weird; he’s clearly hard, clearly aroused, but he’s bright red, looks almost embarrassed. “You can.”

“I’m not going to if you don’t want-”

“ _Will,_ ” Auston gets out, and he sounds frustrated, maybe at himself, as well. “Fuck, I-” He breaks off again. He’s not going to say please, sounds like he can’t even make himself ask, because he’s still Auston Matthews, in spite of everything.

“Okay,” William says, because he trusts himself to listen to what Matts wants, by now. “Okay.”

It feels important, the kind of thing he’s supposed to take his time with, and Willy feels Auston tense up, surprised, when he leans in to kiss him again instead of diving right in. Auston relaxes into it, and Willy keeps it going, just kisses him really soft for ages and doesn’t stop kissing him when he presses his finger up against Auston’s hole. He doesn’t do anything else, just lets him get used to the feeling of something there.

“Don’t have to be careful,” Auston says, but like fuck is Willy going to be anything else, for something that clearly matters this much to Auston, even if he won’t admit it.

“Who’s being careful?” he deflects, and presses down a little more, then moves his hand, switches to jerking Auston’s dick, slow, teasing. Willy draws it out, waits until Auston’s getting all agitated, and then he gets more lube - no such thing as too much, probably - and scoots down the bed to get a better angle.

He’s lying between Matts’ legs when he gets a rhythm going, just in and out, easy. Auston’s tight around him, sort of- fluttering, it feels like, and Willy’s watching like a hawk to see if he should stop, but it looks like Auston’s into it, from the way he’s reaching down and palming at his cock, pushing down toward Willy’s hand, wanting more.

Willy crooks his finger, a little, and Auston makes this sound, clutches the meat of Willy’s arm.

“Nice?” Will confirms, and Auston nods, fast, eyes shut.

“Nice,” he says, and adjusts himself while Willy adds another finger. “Fuck, do- that, do that.”

So Willy does, just keeps fucking Auston with his fingers, picking up the pace and going deeper ‘til his knuckles are flush with Auston’s ass, ‘til Auston’s pink around him.

Willy sits up a little more, plants his free hand on Auston’s hip and uses his strength, just a little, to hold him in place.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Auston says, and see, Willy wasn’t planning on making him come just from ass stuff, but it’s not looking outside of the realm of possibility, now, not with how Auston’s reacting to every little twist of Willy’s fingers inside him.

“You like this,” Willy says, awed. “You’re so into this, you’re-”

“You- fuck- _please_ ,” Auston says, and it sounds like it’s torn out of him, unintentional – he claps a hand over his mouth, and Willy thinks he might be biting down to stop himself making noise and Willy has to make noise, at that, because fuck is it ever the hottest thing he’s ever been part of, making Auston get like this over him. He’s embarrassed, Willy thinks, but it’s not- it’s kind of beautiful, there’s no other word for it.

Willy leans down, presses a kiss to the base of Auston’s dick, then the shaft, and he just barely gets his mouth on the tip and that’s it, Auston’s coming as hard as Willy’s ever seen, arching back and gasping out something that’s maybe supposed to be Willy’s name.

Willy barely pulls back, wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand and strokes Auston through it; then, when Auston shoves his hand away, oversensitive, Willy straddles him and gets himself off in no time at all. He comes in stripes across Auston’s stomach and stares at the way his hand leaves a print of white when he has to lean on Auston’s chest to keep from falling, that’s how flushed Auston is. He looks completely taken apart, like he’s shell-shocked. Maybe more from, like, the idea of what they just did than from actually doing it, but- he’s there. Willy’s there with him.

They’re both a little dazed when Willy rolls off of him and lies down, flat on the bed.

“Was that-”

“Yeah,” Auston interrupts, and his voice is ragged. “Yeah, fuck.” He covers his eyes with his hand and Willy gets it, lets him have this moment to himself. Just because it’s not actually a big deal doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like one, the first time.

“Sorry,” Auston gets out, after a little while. “Sorry, I didn’t do anything to help.”

“Still counts, princess,” Will teases, but gently, ‘cause he can be generous, after sex like that. He reaches up to flick his hair back. Not in a sexy way, it’s just getting long and hanging in his face, all messed up between the rain and the like, physical activity. So- he’s not fixing his hair in a pretty way, but when he drops his hand Auston’s looking at him like Willy’s something stunning.

“What?” he asks, and Auston just shakes his head, doesn’t look away. Sometimes, times like this, it almost looks like he could- like he might actually-

Willy’s heart aches, actually physically hurts, that’s how bad he wants to reach out, how hard he fucking loves Auston Matthews, right there in this second. It’s on the tip of his tongue the way it always is _, I love you_ , like he’s daring himself.

“Almost got every province,” Auston says.

“Almost,” Willy says, and neither of them says anything else.

\---

Will can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, how much they’ve slowed down since hitting the east side of the country. He’s seen the maritimes on a map, knows they’re tiny compared to how much he and Auston have already travelled, and can’t quite manage to come up with a good reason for why they’ve been lingering here for nearly as much time as the rest of the drive combined.

Willy’s not complaining. Not dumb enough to assume Auston’s reasons are the same as his, but he wants this and for now, he’s got it. No complaining allowed.

The amount of selfie requests has been increasing, so they have to be a little more lowkey about touching stuff. Maybe aren’t as lowkey as they should be. It’s nothing dramatic. They split a huge dish of mussels at this really nice seafood restaurant, take shitty snapchats of each other. Stuff like that. They’ve been travelling a long time, long enough that Willy runs out of contacts so he’s stuck wearing his glasses. It makes him at least twenty percent less pretty, but also is apparently enough of a disguise that the selfie requests drop exponentially, so he’s never shit-talking the Superman/Clark Kent thing ever again.

He manages to not tell Matts he loves him. That part’s harder than the contacts thing, probably.

It’s little things, like- like William facetimes Alex, and Auston says hi, and the three of them talk for nearly two hours. It’s the two most important people Willy’s got, the real world - as much as his little brother counts as the real world - rearing its head and not even feeling out of place. It fits. They fit so good it hurts.

It’s maybe a week in, a week where they’ve probably travelled a few kilometres, max. Willy’s napping in their latest hotel room, his head on Auston’s stomach while Auston scrolls through Airbnb to figure out their plan for Newfoundland.

“There’s this really nice house,” he says, after Willy’s been dozing for a while. “Right on the coast, really private. We could rent it for a couple of days?”

“Private as in not a hotel?” Willy asks, craning his neck so he can look at Auston. “As in we have to cook our own food?”

“You can cook,” Auston says, all bratty.

“Better than you can, yeah,” Willy says, more bratty, so he wins, probably.

Auston rolls his eyes, which means Willy basically has to roll over and kiss him, cradling his jaw to get a better angle. Auston hums against him, pleased, turning to press Willy into the mattress, and the kiss actually stays chaste for a solid couple of minutes, which is pretty good, for them.

“We already got Nova Scotia, technically, y’know,” Auston says, light, once Willy starts trailing a hand towards the fly of his pants.

“Shh,” Willy says, and he’s not tying to be funny, really, but Auston smiles anyways, a sincere one. It makes him look younger, nearly sweet. Willy kisses the corner of his mouth and flips them over so he ends up on top, staring down at Auston and Auston staring up at him.

“Hi,” he says. His glasses slide down his nose.

Auston reaches up, careful, and takes the glasses off, folds them and sets them down on the bedside table. It’s nothing little gesture in a nothing little moment, and Willy could say it now, just casual, _I love you,_  so Matts’ll think it’s a heat of the moment kind of thing and that’ll be that, over and done with.

Auston raises an eyebrow, all blurry now that Willy’s not wearing his glasses. It’s a question, and Willy answers with a kiss. It’s not ‘I love you’, but it’s something close, something quiet and familiar and good.

\---

They fly into St. John’s on a puny little plane that rattles with every gust of wind. It takes the whole taxi ride to the house for Willy’s nerves to recover, and then he’s breathless all over again when they carry in all their stuff and he gets a look out of the giant bay window at the ocean.

“Sick, kitchen’s stocked,” Auston says from somewhere behind Willy, and Willy barely hears him moving around the kitchen; can’t tear his eyes away from the water.

He realizes – this is it. They’ve come across the entire country, just the two of them, and they’re going to be here for a few days, maybe a week, and then this entire thing is going to be done.

It’s a vise around Willy’s heart, a lump in his throat, the realization that he won’t get this anymore. And- and it’ll be nice to be back to having a full closet to work with, and to be back to a steady supply of contact lenses and trainers to tell him what to do and when, but he’ll also be back to hooking up with Auston a few times a month, maximum; to watching Auston flirt with handsome strangers when they go out after games. And they’ve been teammates for years, fuckbuddies for nearly as long, and it should be easy to sink back into that, but standing here, the idea seems laughable, impossible.

Willy doesn’t know how to go back before he knew what Auston looks like sitting on the hood of a car and smiling at stars, or making faces at fancy cheeses in a five star hotel, or now, overdue for a haircut with stubble on his face and a denim button-up with the sleeves rolled up, soft-edged in the sunlight as he snoops around in the stocked kitchen. Will can picture him back in Toronto like this, the kind of bullshit domestic fantasy that’s the opposite of Auston Matthews but maybe not that far from Matts, from Will’s Matts, the one he’s gotten to himself this whole summer. He doesn’t know how not to have this, anymore.

“Hey, look!” Auston says, and Willy blinks back to reality, focuses in on Auston, who’s holding up a bag of marshmallows, beaming. “We’re definitely doing s’mores.”

And Willy’s so down with that, he loves s’mores, because who doesn’t, and there are a whole host of really normal things that he could say, that he intends to say.

“I’m in love with you,” is what he does say. Just blurts it right out, entirely unintentionally, right there in the kitchen.

Auston drops the marshmallows.

It takes Willy a second to realize what he said, then it clicks.

His whole brain is just- he can’t think up anything coherent, can’t even do anything but stand there, frozen, while Auston stares at him like he just grew another head.

He feels like he’s going to throw up. It’s been quiet for ten million years, ten billion. “I don’t know why I told you that,” Willy says, and it sounds like the words are coming from someone else. “Ignore it.”

“I-” Auston’s voice comes out strangled, tight. He blinks. “No?” Willy wants to laugh, and he has to press his lips together so it won’t get out, this almost-hysterical, desperate thing.

Auston’s just staring like he’s never seen him before. It takes him a couple of tries to talk. “You’re- what?”

Willy doesn’t know what to do with his limbs. “I thought,” he says, “I thought I could get bored of you by now?” It sounds stupid out loud, even more than in his head, even more than when he first thought of the whole road trip plan. “Like if we were together all the time, maybe I’d stop wanting that, but instead it’s just the two of us and I keep wanting it to be like that all the time, but not- like, I don’t get like this,” he finishes, all out of breath, not making sense. “Like feelings.”

“You have feelings,” Auston repeats, and the look on his face is- it’s a knife in the gut, it’s ten knives in the gut, the mix of shock and confusion and maybe pity, maybe like he’s staring at a car wreck at the side of the highway. Willy doesn’t get looked at like that, ever. “For me?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Willy says, miserable.

“You... you love me?” Auston says again, like he’s not sure if he heard properly the first time or the second time or every time after that.

“I’m _sorry,_ ” Willy says, and even he can hear how wrecked he sounds. “I wish I didn’t.”

Auston flinches, at that, like that was anything except blatantly fucking embarrassing amounts of emotion, and he’s hovering in the middle of the room like he’s not sure if he wants to go to Willy or not and Willy’s not sure if he wants him to either, except for how he really fucking does, like there’s still this stupid fairy tale part of his brain that thinks Auston’s going to close the gap between them and say some romance novel shit and be everything he’s not.

He doesn’t. Willy knows Auston Matthews, always has, so he’s not surprised, not really.

“You said no feelings,” Auston says, and he looks genuinely upset. “That’s- we always said that, _you_ always said that, to me.”

“I know,” Willy says, and Auston maybe opens his mouth to talk, but Willy finishes, “I hate this.”

Auston shuts his mouth, after that. Doesn’t say whatever he was going to say, doesn’t say anything at all, just stands there staring at the ground with the same dumb constipated look on his dumb face.

Willy doesn’t hate him, but fuck, he sure tries, right there.

The bag of marshmallows are still on the floor by Auston’s feet. Maybe what he’s staring at? Willy can’t tell.

“Say something,” Willy says, kind of begs, once the silence stretches out to something unbearable. Auston looks up at him, and Willy can’t place the look on his face, can’t match it up to anything he knows at all. It’s just lost, far away.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Will,” Auston says, finally. It sounds careful, like in an interview. Like he’s already gone.

So-

Willy didn’t ruin things on purpose, this time.

Still ruins them, though.

\---

This is what William wanted, a concrete end to the Matts thing, and that’s what he gets.

He hides in the bathroom with the door locked and listens to Auston leave. He doesn’t say goodbye. Willy didn’t really think he would. Willy wouldn’t have either.

When he leaves the bathroom ages later, the sun is down and the house is empty and he’s alone.

He goes to bed. He’s not the tantrum kind of guy, not the kind to cry, not even around the feeling in his chest, like- like the lack of something, just numb.

Willy looks at his phone, ignores his parents’ messages and googles ‘flights st johns to toronto’, then ‘st johns to sweden’ and the numbers and dates and places swim in front of his eyes and he doesn’t even know where he’s supposed to _go_ , because he doesn’t want either of them, right now, so he just throws his phone to the foot of the bed, wraps the comforter around himself, and eats marshmallows like the pathetic pining losers in movies that he likes to make fun of.

Irony really blows, is what Willy realizes, maybe half a summer too late.

It’s-

This is what he wanted, is the bad part, this - a clean break, a line in the sand - was the whole point of this whole road trip, and he took what he could get and now he got what he was always going to get, and it’s better now than later, once he got even more invested. Better that he just accept it, let it scab over so they can work together and be just lineys again.

It doesn’t feel better. Doesn’t feel like a scab, either, just raw and open and aching. He misses Auston. It’s a day and a night and then two more and Willy wanted this, maybe, before, but now he just misses him.

\---

He’s not even sure why he’s still here.

It’s a nice house, sure. Really full kitchen, even once all the marshmallows are gone, and there’s a huge TV and one of the biggest beds Willy’s ever seen. Too big for just him.

He could go back to Sweden. Start training early and show up jacked for camp in September. He could find a beach somewhere. A real beach, somewhere sandy and hot and lazy, on some island in the middle of nowhere.

He’s still here, though, day five all alone, and no one’s come to tell him to leave yet, so Willy pulls on a hoodie and makes a cup of tea and sits on the steps at the back of the house to drink it.

He could go to Buffalo, scope out where Alex could be playing. He could go totally off the grid, find some forest somewhere. He could-

He-

His glasses are still back in the house, sitting on the dresser in the bedroom, so it takes Willy longer than it should to realize that someone’s walking down the beach.

It probably means something, that Willy can recognize Auston from the way he walks. He’s a blur of a silhouette in the fog, ages down the beach, and Willy looks up and squints at him and he just knows him, sure as he knows anything.

He sits on the steps, stock still, and watches Auston walk. Doesn’t turn and run and barricade himself inside, which is a bigger deal than it sounds, actually.

It’s all very dramatic, right up until Auston gets close enough for Willy to actually see, and then he looks like kind of a mess, to be honest. Bags under his eyes, his hair sticking up like he’s been running his hands through it. He’s wearing the exact same hoodie as Willy, the Leafs logo big across his chest, and it’s funny, maybe, except for how Willy can’t breathe.

Willy stands up, takes half a step towards him then chickens out, and Auston sort of falters then he stops too, and then they’re just standing there staring and it’s so awkward Willy wants to jump into the ocean and die.

“I don’t do relationships,” is the first thing Auston says, so that’s about as terrible a start as Willy could’ve expected.

“Me neither,” Willy says, because it’s the truth. Or- it always was.

Auston’s just staring at him, mostly frowning, real intense. “You make fun of them all the time, I don’t know why you’d want that with me.”

“Me neither,” Willy says again. He doesn’t intend for it to be mean, but it comes out that way anyways, a little. “I never have before. It just happened.”

“You loving me.”

“Yes.”

Auston rocks back and forth on his heels, looks at the sky then down at the beach, and takes a deep breath. “I-”

“You don’t have to want it too-” Willy interrupts, because he doesn’t want to stand here and get let down politely, fuck that, only Auston interrupts him right back.

“But I could, though,” he says, fast. His adam’s apple goes up and down. “I could want that stuff.”

Willy blinks. Auston stares at the ground.

It almost sounds like he’s saying-

But-

It takes Willy a couple of tries to speak. “Are you lying?”

“No,” Auston says. “No, I got freaked out and left and I still don’t get any of this, ‘cause it’s awkward and embarrassing and I’m still like, weird about gay shit, but I-” He breaks off, shakes his head all overwhelmed and drags a hand through his hair, and he finally looks at Willy, like he’s searching for something. As shaken as Willy’s ever seen him. “Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you wanting to- to do this for real, with me, and I don’t want to stop seeing you every day and kissing you every day and- like, I don’t even know, cuddling and stuff.”

So, see, Will hears all that. He’s aware that Auston’s talking, and he’s aware of what the words mean, like, individually, but they aren’t- it’s like hearing a language he doesn’t speak, like there are sounds and words but he can’t make sense of the meaning, because-

“You don’t want that,” Willy gets out. He can hardly even hear himself over the sound of his heart, pounding in his ears, the waves crashing onto the shore. “We said- You never want that with anyone.”

The moment’s stretched out, surreal. They’re just looking at each other, magnetic, and the wind is rustling Auston’s hair as he huffs the tiniest little laugh, maybe in spite of himself.

“I followed you across this entire country because you asked me to, Will,” he says, holding Willy’s gaze, terrified and fond and exasperated and everything painted on his face. “I probably want, like, everything with you.”

Sand’s not the steadiest kind of surface, and Willy’s not the smallest of guys, and he maybe takes Auston by surprise when he launches himself forward to kiss him – it’s one of those reasons, definitely, why Auston stumbles and falls flat on his back and takes Willy with him and Willy doesn’t even care, doesn’t think he can notice anything at all except for his hands in Auston’s hair, his lips on Auston’s lips, their noses pressed together.

“Matty,” he says, and it comes out all choked up, but then Auston kisses him again and he forgets to be embarrassed, forgets anything except the two of them half-sitting, half-lying down on the beach, clinging to each other. Willy missed him so, so much, Auston’s hands big on his back, warm, holding him in place. He _likes_ him.

Willy’s brain isn’t even- he can’t think of anything, can’t even begin to wrap his head around any of this, around Auston wanting him back. It’s terrifying, being this out of his mind and so aware of every single sensation in his body at once, like every single nerve he has is just honed in on Auston, wired right to his heart.

“Come inside,” Willy gasps out, when they break apart for air, barely long enough to talk. “Come-”

“Yeah,” Auston says, in the split second before they’re kissing again, and good intentions aside, it takes them another million years to stop making out long enough to actually stand up. When they do, they’re just- Auston’s covered in rocky sand, his hair sticking up in a million directions. If Willy looks anything like him, he looks like a fucking mess.

He’s never cared less in his _life,_  laughing, triumphant, and grabbing Auston’s hand to tug him up the wooden stairs.

It’s the two of them stumbling through the sliding doors, tracking sand all over the floor, and Auston spinning Willy in close, this dumb, giddy thing. It’s wandering hands, clutching each other close; and maybe they’d take this slow and sweet, if they were two other people, but they aren’t, they’re them, so it’s tugging frantic at each other’s clothes, making their way blindly to the bedroom.

“You like me,” Willy says, stupid, as they tumble into bed. “Oh my god, you-”

Auston maybe nods, but it’s hard to pay attention to anything but his hand in Willy’s underwear, stroking him off cramped and hot. “Willy, god,” he says. “We’re so-”

“- _stupid,_ ” Willy finishes, and he laughs, strained, “I know, I- Matts.”

“I got you,” Auston says, and Willy lets himself believe him, just leans into his touch and kisses him like kissing is a conversation, willing Auston to get it.

“I have,” Willy says, and they aren’t even lying down properly, just sort of tangled up together, but Auston gets the message, reaches over to grab the lube from the bedside table, only he gets a condom as well, and Willy notices.

“Are you going to-” he starts, and Auston’s biting his lip, speaking nearly before Willy’s done.

“Can you just,” he says, breath warm on Willy’s lips, “like, be in me? Okay, can you-”

Willy’s nodding, fast, even before Auston’s done talking, and he can’t stop smiling like an idiot because Auston said it, Auston’s _asking_. “Yeah,” Willy says, pressing their noses together. “Yeah, okay.”

And they’re both sort of messy about it, fumbling to get rid of underwear and inconvenient pillows, but they’re making out fast and hot and heavy, headfirst back into it like it’s been years instead of days. It _feels_ like it’s been years, when Auston gets back to jerking Willy off, really intense and focused enough that Willy suspects some of it might be nerves, but he just kisses Auston through it and catalogues the way his grip gets clumsy once Willy starts fingering him open.

He means to go slow, he really does, getting his fingers slick and just sort of scissoring them in Auston and watching Auston get hard and red, but Auston’s pushing down on him, comes as close as he ever comes to begging.

“You gotta,” Auston says, practically gritting the words out, “You gotta do it, I’m not going to last.”

Willy just nods, probably a million times too eager, and he manages one more greedy kiss before Auston’s clambering on top of him, straddling Willy’s hips. It’s a strange position to get used to, just logistically, and there are a couple seconds of shifting, of trying to fit together and rolling the condom onto Willy and figuring out where their legs go, but then Auston is lowering himself down on Willy’s dick and stretching around him and everything just clicks.

“Wow,” is the first thing out of Matts’ mouth, and it’s incredibly lame, objectively, but it’s also Auston Matthews tight and hot around Willy, clinging to the comforter on either side of Willy’s head like he’s trying to ground himself, so fuck objectivity, fuck everything except this right now.

Auston’s smiling, maybe a little relieved but mostly just excited, and Willy can’t help but copy him because it’s completely ridiculous how happy he looks while they’re actively fucking, but ridiculous in the best way possible.

“I can’t- you don’t even know how long I-”

“Fuck,” Willy says, overwhelmed, and Auston leans down to kiss him, hungry, and the shifting angle is good enough for both of them that the kiss switches into messy panting sooner than later, and then he starts moving up and down on Willy’s dick and Willy just holds his hips, watches him and tries to memorize everything he’s feeling. Feels Auston’s eyes on him, like he’s doing the same.

It’s mostly shallow fucking, just Auston riding him. Not as dramatic as it might have been. Not particularly skilled either, for how good they’ve gotten at sex; the nerves or the novelty stealing any kind of finesse and replacing it with this heady kind of earnestness. Will can’t decide if it’s want or need and can’t decide if it matters; is pretty sure that nothing’s ever going to matter again except for the dull thudding of the headboard against the wall, the little ‘uh’ sounds escaping out of both of them.

“Matty,” Willy says, nosing at Auston’s jaw, at the crook of his neck, encouraging. “Matts, you take it so good.”

Auston shivers, and then he makes this sound like he wants to be laughing at himself and can’t quite pull it off, which Willy gets, because as far as distractions go, the two of them moving together like this is- it’s everywhere, the pace picking up to something frantic.

It’s done quick, and Willy’s ego is petty enough that he’s glad Matts comes first, warm on Willy’s stomach, like marking him. He clenches tight around Willy while he comes, sinking down on Willy’s cock ‘til he’s bottomed out, and the sound he makes, all overwhelmed, is enough to do it for Willy, so he grips Auston’s sides and lets himself go, comes so hard he feels like he’s floating.

“Jesus,” Auston says, “Did you- was that-”

“Yeah,” Willy says, and Auston half-falls down and kisses him, eyes dark, and they’re sticky and gross and neither one goes to move. They’re just touching, everywhere they could be touching.

Willy doesn’t as much pull out as sort of just fall out, soft, when Auston rolls off of him and flat onto his back on the other side of the bed, and there’s more distance between them than Willy wants, but only for a moment, because they’re both turning to face each other at the same moment, this breathless second of eye contact where everything sinks in for the first time.

Willy doesn’t have words, for this. He doesn’t think he needs them.

They lie like that for a long time, curled into each other, closed brackets. Willy gets a hand on Auston’s neck, feels his pulse thrumming under his palm. Just looks at him, drinking him in while Auston does the same.

“I knew you were going to come back, I think,” he confesses, and Auston nods, like _of course_.

“I knew you’d still be here,” he says, and of course he did, _of course_ , because the two of them- it’s like on the ice, knowing something without really thinking it, knowing each other like they know themselves.

Willy leans in, presses their foreheads together. Auston’s sweaty, cheeks flushed.

“I’m glad I was,” Willy says.

Auston nods against him. Not enough to push him away. “Me too.”

Willy closes his eyes, listens to Auston trying to catch his breath. His instinct is to say something mean, maybe call him ‘Princess’ again. To make stuff a joke, make space.

Willy doesn’t. Doesn’t joke, doesn’t push Auston away, doesn’t do anything, not tonight. Not now. He stays right where he is, right where he wants to be.

\---

It’s a grade school geography thing, but it hits Willy for the first time, once they’re sitting out by the water, that this is the same ocean he crosses to get back to Sweden. It’s never been a real thing, not from this side of Europe, ‘til right now, sitting on the rocky beach and staring out at the waves getting tossed around by the wind. They’re tall, crashing down into white foam. More green than blue, the opposite of tropical.

Neither him nor Matts have spoken, for a while. Not in a bad way, Willy doesn’t think. More, just. Contemplative. Just the two of them, sitting next to each other in their matching Leafs hoodies, watching the water. It’s grounding, a little. Something to hold onto.

“Hey,” Matts says eventually, and he looks at Willy and holds out a hand, flat. Willy stares, and Matts smiles, just at the corner of his mouth. “Got Newfoundland.”

It takes Willy a second to get it, and when he does, he can’t help but smile. Their dumb sex bet feels like the furthest thing in the world. Still – they’re competitive guys, even when they’re only competing against themselves, so Willy gives Auston the high five he’s asking for.

He lingers, leaves their hands touching. Auston curves up his fingers so they’re nearly holding on to each other, and it’s a little hesitant, but not nervous. Just new.

“So I lied,” Willy says, tracing the lines on Auston’s palm. “When I said I didn’t know why I wanted to do feelings with you.”

“Yeah?”

Willy nods, digs his toes into the sand. “It’s because we make each other better,” he says, simple. “We’re better together.”

Auston squeezes his hand, just once, and it’s weird and cheesy and vulnerable but, fuck, Willy’s come this far, so he squeezes Auston’s hand back.

“I think we’re gonna be so good together,” he says, and it’s not really a question, but Auston answers with a kiss anyways, a hand on Willy’s cheek while Willy holds onto his forearm, to the muscles there that he knows familiar as anything.

Auston bumps their foreheads together. “So I like, love you back,” he says. Kind of mumbles, because he’s maybe the only human worse at emotions than Willy. “For the record.”

“Well, duh,” Willy says, to disguise the fact that his heart is dancing a jig in his chest. He’s pretty sure that Matts can see through it, doesn’t even really mind.

Auston’s got a real dorky smile. Willy gets why he doesn’t do it in pictures a lot, because it’s so open, transforms his whole demeanor. It makes him look young, paints everything he’s feeling right on his face.

Willy kisses him one more time, because that smile is _his,_ and then he tugs his sleeves down over his hands and snuggles up against Auston; gets really cozy while Auston plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s easy, the rest of the world standing still, for a while. Willy doesn’t really know where they go from here. Doesn’t think Matts does either, because this is new for both of them, sticking around.

There’s a breeze, this close to the water, and it’s late enough that the sun’s starting to go down – it’s chilly, but they stay out, holding onto each other and staring down the beach, all the way to the ocean. The stars are starting to appear, way out in the distance, and William feels as settled as he ever has, something anchoring him in place. So maybe-

Home, he decides. They go home, from here, back to Toronto, and they’ll figure it out from there. They’ve got time. He meant what he said about being excited.

“We got every province,” Auston says eventually, conversational. “Kinda sad about it.”

“There are still three territories,” Willy offers, because Canada’s a big country, and he doesn’t think he’d mind more time with Matts, and he’d be down to fuck in an igloo, hypothetically.

“Fifty states,” Matts counters, and he presses his nose against Willy’s hair, and Willy grins.

They’re on the same page, here. They usually are. 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote onesided spy!verse willy/auston a while back, and i guess i felt guilty about not giving the two of them a happy ending, so. here’s atonement by way of a happy beginning. 


End file.
